


When You Call

by 29PiecesOfMe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Dying Castiel, Family Feels, Fix-It, Gen, Hostage Situations, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Mark of Cain, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Reichenbach Fix-It, Season/Series 10, Stolen Grace, Team Free Will, Team as Family, Torture, Tortured Sam, What-If, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-10-30 23:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10887207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/29PiecesOfMe/pseuds/29PiecesOfMe
Summary: What if Dean hadn't been a demon when Cole captured Sam? What if Cas, dying from the stolen grace, tried to rescue Sam when Dean couldn't be reached, only to end up a hostage himself? How would things have gone differently, and how will Team Free Will survive when all three lives are on the line... and the clock is ticking? Sam!whump, Cas!whump. S10 AU





	1. In Times of Dark and Peril

**Author's Note:**

> So, disclaimer for all you Cole lovers out there, I'm so sorry. I actually don't dislike him in canon, but I needed to borrow him as a bad guy, so... yeah. Don't hold your breath for him to turn into the good guy, because this is an AU and he doesn't. Other notable differences in this AU: it takes place after the season 9 finale, so Metatron has been captured and Abaddon is dead, but Dean wasn't killed and didn't turn into a demon. He does still have the Mark of Cain. Cas still has Theo's grace and is still off on his own getting sicker and weaker, but never went hunting with Sam (who doesn't have a broken arm).
> 
> I don't own Supernatural characters. They belong to Kripke and Co. Some of the dialogue comes straight from the episodes Black and Reichenbach.
> 
> A million thanks to Aini NuFire for being a constantly helpful and supportive beta reader and writing buddy :)

"Damn it, Dean, I don't care! You need to come home!"

Sam paced the Bunker, walking between the rows of bookshelves in the library. He pinched the bridge of his nose. At the moment, he would rather chuck the phone across the room than listen to one more slurred excuse from his brother.

"Because this is stupid, and you're getting careless!" he shouted in response to Dean's question. "I get it, you want to go on hunts and drink yourself to death, that's probably the Mark talking! You're lucky that demon at the gas station didn't finish you off. They caught it on the security camera, you know. I'm having to clean up your messes."

Why couldn't his stupid brother just come back to the Bunker? Sam hadn't seen him in over a week now, and this was the first time in three days Dean had bothered to answer the phone.

"You know what- no! Dean, no, _not_ one more hunt- a nest of _what_? Fine, but come home and sober up first, and I'll go with you."

Even as he suggested it, though, Sam knew Dean wouldn't be coming back, not yet. Their fight against first Abaddon and then Metatron had left the hunters shaken, especially with the near miss for Dean before he could take down the scribe. Sam had thought his brother was dead for sure, and only by the grace of God had he survived.

But the Mark had already wreaked too much havoc on Dean's numerous complexes. Sam knew the older Winchester was avoiding the Bunker and _him_ because of the guilt over what he was slowly turning into—merciless, cold, and brutal. And it was all because of that damn Mark.

Just one more reason Dean should wait for him, though, so Sam could help pull him back from the edge if he needed to.

"Dean, _please_ just- yeah, I know I've taken off to hunt on my own before." Sam ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. Of course Dean would bring that up _now_. "I get that you need time to deal, but I don't see how this is helping- wait! Dean, don't hang up! Just…" The hunter let out a sound of frustration, turning to pace back the other way. "Just give me a time that you _swear_ you'll check in by so I can come after you if- a _week_? How about tomorrow-"

It was too late. Dean had hung up and Sam knew better than to think his brother would answer the phone again if he tried to call back. Why did Winchesters have to have such a stubborn streak? Sam knew Dean could handle whatever he was up against—if anything, he was afraid Dean might handle it a little too well.

But it only took one mistake, and being out of communication like this was just _stupid_.

Sam sighed and tossed the phone on one of the library tables, rubbing his face and looking around. It wasn't like he didn't have plenty to do here, with so much lore that he could delve into and try to start cataloguing.

It was hard to focus much on the old books, though, fascinating as they were, when his mind was wrapped up in worry for his brother. Sam needed some kind of distraction.

Frowning, the hunter glanced back to the desk, regarding his phone for a second before moving over to pick it back up. Turning the screen on, Sam thumbed through his contacts list. He could see how Jody was getting on with Alex, or… it'd been a while since they'd heard from Cas.

Sam sank down into one of the chairs, debating whether or not to call the angel. Cas was worse about checking in than Dean was. After defeating Metatron, allowing the angels to return to their home, Cas had come back to Earth. Then he'd just taken off, something about finding any remaining angels and trying to encourage them to return to Heaven.

And that was it. How long _had_ it been since he'd talked to Cas? Sam winced, realizing it must have been going on a month now. He should have done a better job keeping in touch. For that matter, Sam thought with even more chagrin, he should have just insisted from the start that the angel continue to use the Bunker as his home base. If he hadn't been so worried about Dean, maybe he would have pushed the matter more instead of letting it and Cas go.

Sam's resolve hardened and he pushed the button to dial the angel's phone.

It took a couple of rings, but then Cas's gruff voice answered at last.

"Sam. Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, hey, Cas," the hunter replied, leaning back in his chair and staring at the Bunker ceiling. "Just thought I'd check in on how things were going. Dean's off god knows where trying to kill his liver by Friday."

"He's… what?" Cas asked between a few coughs. "Is he okay?"

"Dean's just… being Dean. He's got a lot of stuff to work through. I think now that Abaddon is dead, which was the whole point of him getting the Mark, we really need to start thinking about how to get that thing back off of him again. And I'm about one more ignored call away from holding an intervention." Sam bit his lip, then added, "Might not hurt to have you here as backup, you know? Do you have anything going on, or…?"

"No, I-" the angel cut off in another fit of hacking coughs, each one making Sam frown a little more.

"You alright? What, did Dean rub off on you that much, you're hanging out in smoky bars now?" But that couldn't be right, not unless Cas had found the quietest dive bar in existence. There was no background noise. So what was making him cough like that?

"I'm fine," the angel replied a little too quickly. "Just, uh... swallowed something wrong."

Sam sat up straighter. "Wait, you're eating? Didn't you say everything tasted like molecules? If you're eating, does that mean you're losing your grace again?"

"No. Uh, yes. Yes, it does taste like molecules, you're right. That's probably why I was choking on it."

A cold knot started to work its way down Sam's throat, settling in his gut like a lead weight. He swallowed, listening as Cas coughed again and couldn't seem to stop. The sounds grew weaker and weaker until the angel was left wheezing for air.

"Cas," Sam snapped. "You know you're the worst liar I've ever known. What's going on? Are you sick?" But that couldn't be, surely. Angels… angels didn't get sick. They didn't have coughing fits like that, or sound like they barely had enough energy to keep up the conversation.

"No," Cas whispered, but the labored breaths Sam heard told a different story. "Everything's fine, don't worry-"

"Yeah, bullshit!" Sam was already on his feet and storming towards the Bunker's garage. His heart pounded, even more flooded with guilt that he'd waited so long to check in with his friend, after complaining to Dean about doing that exact same thing. "I'm on my way. Where are you?"

The angel sighed. "Sam… you have more important things-" He broke off to cough some more, then took several more deep breaths.

"No," Sam snapped as he jumped into his Dodge Charger. "Cas, you're _sick._ There's nothing else more important." Even if they'd been in the middle of something, which they weren't, this took precedence. Pulling out of the Bunker's garage, Sam punched the gas, heading towards the road with gravel spewing behind him. "Either tell me where you are, or I'm gonna pull up your GPS and come find you anyway."

The hunter heard another sigh, then a few softer coughs. Finally, Cas murmured, "Ness City. The, uh… Redbird Motel."

"Ness City," Sam repeated with a frown. "Okay. That's only about two and a half hours from here."

"Okay. I suppose I'll see you when-"

"Cas, wait," the hunter interrupted before Cas could hang up on him. "Stay on the line, man." He was trying not to blow things out of proportion, wanting to believe Cas when he said things weren't that bad. But this wasn't okay. The cold prickle that wouldn't leave his skin backed him up on that, as did Cas's silence instead of more argument.

Finally, the angel whispered, "Alright."

Sam nodded, spinning the wheel one-handed to veer onto the state road. "So, uh, talk to me. How's everything going with the angels?"

"As you might expect," Cas gritted out. "Some were willing to listen to reason. Others… others were not. I told Hannah to go on without me and continue working."

"And she _did_?" Sam snapped, trying to smooth out the bite in his tone, but annoyed that the other angel would have left Cas alone in the condition he was clearly in.

"I told her I would catch up. I seemed fine when she left…"

He trailed off, and Sam's heart stuttered. So Cas was admitting that he really wasn't fine at all, as though Sam could remotely be fooled. It still seemed like Hannah would have checked in with Cas by now, but then again… Sam hadn't. Dean hadn't.

Dean…

Sam bit back a curse, realizing that he ought to let Dean know what was going on, but unwilling to hang up on Cas. Besides, his brother was busy on a hunt and wouldn't answer the phone even if Sam did call. He'd have to leave a message anyway, so there was no reason to bother until he'd found the angel.

Urging Cas to keep talking, Sam stayed on the line as the miles rolled by under the tires. When it became obvious that this was wearing the angel out even more, he traded some stories of his own, though didn't mention his concern for Dean again. No reason to add more stress to the angel's plate. All the while, Cas couldn't seem to hold back those horrible coughs that made Sam's entire body ache just to listen to.

He wondered again what exactly the problem was… and what they were going to do about it. If the grace Cas had stolen was affecting him, they could always try removing it. It would be excruciating, which made Sam ache even more, and it would condemn Cas to humanity once again, but surely that was better than a slow, crippling death.

But what if that tattered grace was the only thing keeping Cas alive?

They would deal with it later. For the meantime, Sam pushed it from his mind so he could concentrate on staying as calm as possible for Cas's sake.

They kept talking as Sam pulled over for gas and ducked into the station to get some Tylenol and water bottles for Cas. By the time he hit the road again, his cell phone was down to half the battery, but there was only about an hour to go.

"Alright, I'm not too far now," Sam assured Cas, turning on the speaker phone so he could check the map again once he was well onto the road. "Just hang in there a bit longer-" He cut off with a groan as the car suddenly sputtered, then died completely. "Aw come on, what the hell?"

"Sam?"

"Just something with the car," he assured the angel, stomach twisting as he prayed this wouldn't delay him reaching Cas. And of course he'd taken a back road shortcut… there weren't even other cars around that he could jack one. Biting back a frustrated grumble, Sam popped the hood and slid out of the Charger.

"What's happening?" Cas asked. "Sam?"

"Hang on a sec." Sam leaned over as he saw another car pulling to a stop behind him. Thank goodness… maybe if this wasn't a quick fix, he could catch a ride to somewhere he could just swipe another set of wheels.

A man climbed out of the car, nodding to Sam. "Hey. Need some help?"

"Uh," Sam glanced down at the engine, wishing he had Dean there with him. Dean was the mechanic; the little bit he'd taught Sam was for the Impala, which didn't look the same. "Yeah," the hunter admitted. "I think so. It just died on me."

"Out here?" the guy asked, glancing around the deserted road, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah." _Tell me about it._

"Your ride really has it out for you, huh?"

"I guess so," Sam said with a snort as the stranger approached and pointed to the open hood of the car.

"Give you a hand with that?"

Sam stepped back a bit, gesturing as well to the engine. "Yeah, I'd appreciate it. Thanks." He fought not to let his impatience show; there was no reason to be short with the guy who hadn't been obligated to stop and help in the first place, and couldn't help it that Sam was in a hurry to reach a sick friend. Sam was just relieved to have assistance in the first place.

"These cars and their computerized brains, huh?" the man asked with a shake of his head. "One zero out of place and the whole thing goes kaput." He leaned in closer, pointing to something Sam couldn't have identified if he'd tried. "Well, right there. There's your problem."

The hunter frowned, also leaning in a bit. Whatever the piece was, it was completely unfamiliar to him. Sam cast his mind back to Dean's lessons, but nothing was springing to mind. "What the hell is that?" he murmured.

"Well, that's a kill switch."

Wait a minute…

"This here is the remote," the stranger went on, still as casual and calm as could be as he held up a tiny device that he'd just pulled from his own pocket.

The implication struck like a bolt of lightning, but not as hard as the fist that struck Sam in the side of the head a second later, sending him into a dark oblivion.

SPN SPN SPN

"Sam? Sam!" Castiel's heart thudded in his chest, as he jolted up on the ramshackle bed as straight as his aching body would allow. "Sam, what's happening? Are you alright?"

The long silence that followed left the angel gripping the phone so tightly it nearly cracked. He willed his friend to speak, to prove that the strike Castiel had heard was the hunter fighting off his attacker. The angel cursed his broken wings with a low oath; if only he was whole, he could simply fly to Sam's side and help him.

But Castiel could do nothing, listening intently as the background noise shifted, a soft scraping as someone picked up the phone.

"Is this Dean?" a strange voice asked.

Castiel's heart sank. It wasn't Sam.

"Who is this?" he demanded, voice croaking slightly; he'd already used it more today than he had in the past week, speaking with Sam. "What do you want with Dean? What have you done to Sam?"

After a short pause, the stranger replied, "If you happen to talk to Dean, tell him he should give his brother a call."

"Wait, what are you going to do-" Castiel cut off as the line clicked and went dead.

The angel swore under his breath. Scrolling through his contacts as fast as he could, Castiel dialed Dean's number with his gut already clenching at the realization that he'd have to admit to Dean Winchester that he'd placed Sam in danger.

This was all his fault. Sam had only been on the road because he'd been coming to get Castiel, because of the angel's _weakness_. Whatever the stranger did to Sam, it was all on Castiel. How was he going to live with that? And how was he going to explain it to Dean?

 _"We're sorry,"_ a voice spoke from the other end, certainly not the hunter. _"You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service."_

Castiel hung up, stomach twisting even more violently. If Dean's number was no good, then the angel had no way to reach him. He knew the hunter kept several "burner phones", whatever that meant, but Castiel only had the one number on hand.

Which meant there was no one to come to Sam's aid. No one but Castiel.

The angel didn't hesitate. Throwing back the blankets, he stumbled out of the bed too quickly. The room spun, forcing him to sink to the floor and close his eyes until the wave of dizziness had passed. Though Castiel's legs didn't feel like they were fully solid, he pushed himself back up and lurched for the desk where he'd left the small computer Sam had given him.

GPS. Sam had said he'd track Castiel via the GPS in his phone if necessary. Surely Castiel could now do the same, in order to find the hunter. The Winchesters had given him a notepad with instructions for how to do this, along with some of the other more basic methods of human tracking, such as running a license plate through a police database. Besides, he'd had a little practice while attempting to find Metatron.

He could do this.

Wiping away the sheen of sweat building on his forehead at even this small amount of exertion, Castiel booted up the computer and pulled the notepad from the desk drawer. He drummed his fingers, glaring at the screen as it sluggishly came to life and connected to the motel's wireless internet.

Every moment it took was another moment that Sam was left alone in the hands of this man who clearly meant to do him—and Dean—harm. Castiel tried not to think about the sound of the man's fist hitting Sam, nor how much force it would have taken to render a Winchester unconscious. He tried not to let his mind wander to Dean, and why his phone number was disconnected, or where he might be, or why this man wanted them. Was it a demon, perhaps? A monster? Surely not an angel, though there might well be some out there who would still want revenge for the Fall.

The website finally pulled up, giving Castiel the option of turning on the GPS for Sam's phone number. Picking his cell up again, the angel fell into another violent fit of coughing as he waited for the map to load.

How could something as simple as coughing leave him so exhausted and drained? Castiel couldn't afford this, not now. _Sam_ couldn't afford this. Choking back another fit, Castiel ran a hand over his face, then exhaled in relief when a red, blinking dot appeared on his screen.

They seemed to be moving, well over an hour away from Castiel's current position… and that was assuming he could make the drive without stopping, which wasn't likely.

Keys… he needed his keys.

Blindly groping for the set of keys on the dresser, the angel released a ragged breath as his anger turned inwards. No… he needed to focus. Castiel couldn't afford to let his self-loathing at his own failures consume him, not while Sam was in danger.

Though each step was heavier than the last, Castiel forced himself on. He was going to find his friend.


	2. Though You Sail Through Storm and Squall

Some of the high from the kills was wearing off by the time Dean finally stumbled back to the Impala. The Mark on his arm was twinging with delight—frankly, way too much delight. If the hunter hadn't been running on the last of his adrenaline, it might have freaked him out a bit more.

"Hey, there's my baby," he muttered as he stopped at the car, turning so he could lean back against her and catch his breath. "We did good today."

Eight vamps in total, which he was pretty sure was a personal best, on his own. Sam was gonna be pissed, but that really wasn't Dean's problem.

Still… The Mark prickled again, then faded into the background as Dean's thoughts turned briefly home. He supposed he should at least let Sam know everything was okay, so the kid would stop his incessant worrying. On the other hand, Dean would probably just get a lecture once Sam realized that what should have taken Dean a couple days at least had been rather recklessly taken care of in less than one.

Jerking open the driver's side door, Dean collapsed into the seat and reached into his jacket in search of a phone. When he clicked it on, though, the screen popped up with a message declaring that he had no service. Dean frowned.

"What?" How was that possible? He'd had service when he'd driven in earlier that day. The hunter glared at the phone, noting the icon saying he'd received a message. Yeah, probably Sam wanting to complain.

But when he opened the message, Dean groaned and leaned his head back against the headrest. His service had been disconnected pending payment. That was just perfect. Now that he thought about it, Dean couldn't remember the last time he _had_ paid, what with Abaddon and Metatron. Months?

And then these last couple of days—or had it been over a week by now?—off on his own, adult things like phone payments had been too far down on his radar. Sam was going to have a field day.

Sam… Dean groaned again. The kid was probably half-frantic by now. Though the mother-hen routine was getting on Dean's last nerve, he _did_ know the importance of having a means of communication.

Leaning over to the glove compartment, Dean grabbed his first back-up phone and powering it on. To his surprise, the thirteen messages he'd been expecting from his brother weren't there. No one had been trying to contact him, apparently.

"Wow," Dean said out loud, eyeing the cell with suspicion, then surprise as it remained obstinately silent. "Alright. Thank you." About damn time Sam eased up a bit. Weird, but good.

Dean's resolve wavered for a moment; he should really make the damn payment, reactive his service, and call his irritating little brother, just to reassure him.

Alternatively, this was probably a sign that he deserved a break from the rest of the world. Maybe instead he should just head back to town and hit up a bar for another relaxing drink.

Tossing the cell phone into the passenger seat, Dean turned the engine over and pulled off down the road.

SPN SPN SPN

Everything was dark when Sam's eyes fluttered open. His first reflexive move was to try to reach for his head, but his hands weren't following directions. It didn't take long for the hunter to realize they'd been pulled behind his back, bound with what seemed to be zip-ties. He was lying down on his side, but a quick sweep of the immediate area with his feet and the low, gentle vibration of a moving vehicle indicated it was the backseat of a car. The blindness was a result of a bag of some sort pulled over his head.

Great, just great. Who the hell _was_ this guy, and how had Sam been so stupid as to let himself be sucker-punched like that?

Wait a second… _Cas_!

Sam jerked upright, trying to rub the hood off his head so he could see.

"Well, look who's awake," a calm voice spoke from the front. "Good timing, Sammy. We're there."

The car jerked to a stop and Sam froze with dismay; how did this guy know his name? He tensed as the sound of the engine turned off, the driver's door opening. He was in a terrible position to fight, prone in the backseat and unable to see or maneuver, while his captor had the high ground and probably a gun. Sure enough, as soon as the door by his head opened, Sam heard the familiar click of a trigger being cocked.

"Now listen up, Sammy," the stranger said, a gun barrel pressing itself against Sam's head through the hood. "Stay cool and this will all be over soon. You're not the one I'm after, so don't make this harder than it has to be."

Sam didn't reply, knowing that trying to run for it now was likely to fail, and worsen his odds of escaping later. He held still, face stony beneath the bag, as the man grabbed him under the arm and propelled him backwards out of the car. It was an awkward maneuver for Sam to extricate himself from the backseat without his hands, further ensuring that he couldn't put up much of a fight.

"Alright," the stranger said, one hand still on Sam's arm as the gun shifted to the back of the hunter's head. "Straight forward. Watch the rocks, that'd be one doozy of a fall."

"Listen to me," Sam urged, no choice but to walk blindly in the direction he was being pushed. "I don't know what you want-"

"Oh, we'll get to that," the stranger assured him. "Watch your head, low clearance."

Sam ducked, completely disoriented, wishing he knew how far they had driven or how long he'd been out. His heart clenched as he thought again of Cas, sick and alone, not knowing where Sam was. Had the angel heard what was happening? Or had the call been cut off? Sam couldn't remember, and he wasn't sure which would be worse.

The ground under his boots changed from gravel to something smooth and uneven. The man pull Sam's bound wrists back far enough for his arms to loop what seemed to be the narrow back of a chair that he was being urged onto, so that his hands were pulled behind it. Sam's feet were kicked apart, two more zip-ties now added to lash his ankles securely to the chair legs. A third was threaded through the bindings on his wrists to fasten them to one of the rungs of the chair back.

Sam waited, tense with trepidation at not being able to see his attacker or defend himself. His breaths came shallow and rapid in the few seconds of stillness. When the hood was suddenly ripped away, the hunter couldn't help but jump.

"Okay," his captor said, almost cheerful, as Sam blinked against the sudden light. "Home sweet home. Breathe, there you go."

Sam exhaled, shaking his head to flick his hair away from his eyes as he took in the scene. Some old barn, by the looks of things. The man was standing at ease in front of him, a small, knowing smile not quite hiding the threat lurking just below the surface.

"Who are you?" Sam demanded as he tested the bonds around his wrists. There was no give. "Listen to me… my friend is sick. He needs help. I was on my way to him. You have to let me go!"

"The guy on the phone?" the man asked, no trace of concern in his voice or expression. He shrugged. "Shit happens. I'm sure he'll understand. All the more reason for you to sit tight and not make trouble, because as soon as I have what I want, I'll let you go."

"What _do_ you want?" Sam snapped, frustration coloring his tone with urgency. "Who are you?"

For a moment, the man only regarded Sam. Finally, he answered, "You're Sam Winchester. I think we can both agree on that. And your older brother, Dean, well… He and I, we go way back."

So this was about Dean. "You're a hunter?" Sam guessed. He tried again to place the man or remember if Dean had told him any stories about a team-up gone wrong enough to warrant this.

"Sure," the guy replied with a shrug. "Yeah, we can go with that. Hunting your brother counts, right?"

Great, Sam thought in dismay. A civvy. A civvy with a bone to pick, and no idea what he was getting into. Shaking his head, Sam growled, "I wouldn't do that."

"Yeah?"

"Trust me," the hunter snapped. "Look, buddy, I- I don't know who you are, all right? I don't know what you want or what my brother did, but if you got any sense, I suggest you turn tail and run back to that army recruiting ad that spit you out in the first place."

Dean would eat this guy alive, and not only did Sam not want to risk tipping his brother into a Mark-induced craze, _Cas_ didn't have time for this.

The guy seemed unconcerned, offering a light shrug. "Name's Cole," he said, though he didn't volunteer any more details. "Here's the thing, Sammy. I've been looking for your brother for a long time."

"It's _Sam_ ," the hunter snarled, jerking against the zip-ties again, only succeeding in making his wrists ache.

"Damndest thing, I never could get a solid lead on him for _years_ ," Cole continued. "Then finally, there he goes in that gas station. That guy he killed?" Cole whistled and shook his head. "Looks like Dean hasn't changed much. But see, the trail was already cold by the time I got there. And then who should trot onto the scene but Dean's baby brother?"

There was a wolfish cast to his grin, leaving Sam with a cold prickle on the back of his neck. Whatever this was, Cole seemed to know much more about them than Sam knew about him. He thought back to the scene at the gas station where Dean had ganked that demon, where Sam had gone to cover for him, but he still couldn't place Cole.

"That was days ago," Sam pointed out with a glower. "Why wait?"

Cole chuckled. Sam tensed as his captor walked around behind him, preferring to keep his eyes on the man in case an attack was coming. He jumped when a hand fell on his shoulder from behind, Cole leaning over him.

"Hate to admit it, but you managed to shake me. Good thing I got a buddy in the right places… got your license plate on a traffic cam not far out of Lebanon. Been following you since this afternoon. Now," he went on as he circled back around and leaned back against a small table not far from Sam's chair. "I've got a very important job for you."

Sam glared at Cole, not deigning to ask what that job might be. He had a good guess, anyway. Cole held up the hunter's cell phone and turned it on.

"Stay cool," he explained. "I'm gonna have a chat with your brother, and you're gonna let him know you're okay. For now. My beef isn't with you, Sam, so if everyone does what they're supposed to, there's no reason for you to get hurt. Alright?"

Sam's glare intensified. "If my brother finds you," he growled, "he's going to kill you."

Cole eyed Sam for a second, then his lips twitched up into a smile. The gun he'd been holding rose, pointed between Sam's eyes. The hunter gulped but didn't back down.

"You know," Cole replied. "I'm sorta betting he won't."

Sam's cold stare lost none of its iciness in spite of the jolt in his heart as Cole pushed a few buttons on the phone, then held it to his ear with a smile. A few seconds passed, then Cole suddenly frowned and pulled the cell back down again, staring at the screen.

"He'll probably send it right to voicemail," Sam offered with a shrug and a touch of smugness. If Dean could just stay off the grid a little while longer, maybe Sam could escape on his own and there would be no risk of a confrontation between Cole and Dean. "Tell you what. If you let me go, right now before this goes any farther, I'll do you a favor and _not_ tell my brother about any of this. You can still walk away."

The man didn't reply, but hit the redial button, then flipped the phone to speaker and held it up. Sam waited as the phone rang once, expecting it to flick over to Dean's voicemail greeting. Instead, a short tone played, followed by a mechanical voice.

_"We're sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or-"_

Cole ended the call and stepped towards Sam. The temperature in the barn seemed to drop several degrees as the hunter wiggled in the chair.

"This contact info is no good," Cole said, no longer sounding as casual as he had before. "What's his number?"

"That _is_ his number," Sam snapped. His head spun, heart sinking in a clammy pool of denial. It couldn't be. Why was Dean's cell disconnected? Had… had he finally done it? Had he finally blown town for good, erasing his numbers and his tracks, giving in to the Mark and its corrupting power? Sam swallowed hard, fighting back the heartbreak. If his brother was gone, he might be gone for good.

And with Cas out of commission, there was no one—no one in all the world—who could pull Dean back.

All three of them were well and truly on their own.

There was only a small light in the darkness: at least Cole would never find the older Winchester either. "If he's deactivated his phone, you won't be able to track him through the GPS," Sam said, thrusting his despair back into the depths of his heart. For now, he needed to keep his game face on. "Looks like all this was for nothing."

A moment of silence ticked ominously by. Cole watched Sam, shrewd and cool, before running a hand through his hair in a gesture of reserved agitation.

"Alright," Cole said, standing and turning for a second. His shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath, probably an effort to contain himself. When he turned back around, his expression was smooth and blank again, the hint of a casual smirk playing across his features once more. "That's alright. Plan B, then."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, what's that?"

Holding the phone aloft, Cole said, "I _know_ you boys must have a way of contacting each other. A different number where he can be reached. Rendezvous points. _Some_ way of staying in communication."

Dean's numerous backup phones flashed through Sam's mind, along with the agonizing thought that the hunter had probably dumped all those as well, but he merely pasted on a thoughtful expression and pursed his lips. "Hmm. Nope, not really. Brothers… whatcha gonna do?"

"I need… another number," Cole ground out, advancing another step, looming over Sam. The gun twitched as though to remind the hunter of its presence, as though the threat would make him give his brother up. "How do I find Dean?"

"You don't," Sam shot back, leaning forward as much as his bonds would allow, meeting Cole's glare. "The number I've got there is all there is."

Cole's lips twitched again, his arms switching position; the phone dropped… the gun rose. Cocking the weapon with an audible click, he pointed the pistol first at Sam's forehead, then allowed his aim to sink to various other parts of the hunter's body. His shoulder… his stomach… finally, the gun pushed harshly into the top of Sam's left thigh.

"You _sure_ about that, Sammy?"

Willing himself not to show his fear, reminding himself that he'd had worse than a gunshot before, Sam narrowed his eyes.

"It's _Sam_ ," he seethed. "And I'm sure."

Cole smiled. "Suit yourself."

He pulled the trigger.

SPN SPN SPN

Cole didn't particularly savor the sound of Sam Winchester's cries of pain, but he'd offered the man a chance to do this the easy way. Sam had refused. Besides, it wasn't like Cole had never had to get his hands dirty before, for causes much less personal than this. He could respect that Sam wasn't eager to give his brother up, but it would happen eventually.

Cole would see to that.

Blood coated Sam's jeans where he'd been shot, dripped from his nose where Cole had hit him repeatedly in the face, discolored his cheeks as a bruise was already beginning to form beneath his eye.

No reason to get too rough just yet, though. Cole would work his way up to it. Better to start off easy, let the young Winchester realize he meant business. Taking frequent breaks was more likely to convince Sam that Cole _was_ willing to stop once he had what he needed, that Sam had everything to gain by giving in.

Besides, fear of the pain starting again once it had ceased was a powerful motivator. Torture became less effective when it was one, unbroken session with no actual end in sight.

"Now, Sam," Cole said casually, leaning back against the small table again and watching his captive as Sam shuddered with pain. "How do I find Dean? Is there another number I can call him on?"

The Winchester spat a glob of blood onto the floor and glared up at Cole. "No."

"Where is he, Sammy?"

"Screw you."

"Do you even _know_ the guy you're protecting?" Cole asked, keeping his voice conversational though he could already feel the red-hot rage welling up within him as his mind returned to the reason he was here. "June 21, 2003."

"Wasn't there, can't help you," Sam immediately retorted with a defiant lift of his chin.

Cole ignored this. "I was just a kid. Always was a light sleeper. Heard something going on downstairs, so I got up to see what it was. And there… on the floor of our own home…" He shook his head, fist clenching as the soldier fought for control. "There's my dad, throat slit. And your brother, standing over him. That was the night Dean Winchester murdered my father. And that's… that's why he's gonna die."

"I'm sorry," Sam murmured, which meant nothing at all.

"I'm not looking for your sympathy, Sammy," Cole reminded him, straightening up and grabbing the duffel bag he'd stashed there earlier. "I'm looking for your brother. So, why don't you tell me where Dean-o is, and then I'll let you go."

"That's not gonna happen."

Cole wasn't exactly surprised. After all, he'd been taking it easy on the Winchester so far, hoping but not expecting Sam would give in before Cole really had to turn up the heat. But he also hadn't heard much surprise from Sam at the news that his brother had committed cold-blooded murder, which meant he was either complicit with the whole thing, or at the very least he already knew and had done nothing.

Neither of which was doing Sam any favors.

"He's a killer, Sam. Covering for him now won't change anything. I _will_ find him eventually, with or without you. I'd just hate to have to kill you first."

"Look," Sam snapped, sounding a bit more insistent now. "I'm sorry about your dad. Whatever happened… Dean had a reason. I don't know how to tell you this, but there are monsters out there."

Yeah, monsters like Dean Winchester. Cole snorted, demanding, "You think I don't know that? I did two tours in Iraq. Special Ops, Darfur… The Congo."

"Not that kind of monster," the Winchester interrupted. "I mean vampires, alright? Werewolves! Monster… monsters. We hunt them, that's what we do. If Dean killed your dad, it means he was some kind of monster-"

"Boy, you better think _real_ careful before you go spouting off that crazy talk about my dad," Cole snarled, jerking a hammer out of his duffle. He squinted at Sam for a moment, gauging him, before his eyes widened with disbelief. "Wow. You know, I don't know what's worse… the fact that you expected me to buy that, or that you actually seem to."

Cole was starting to feel less conflicted about whatever happened to this lunatic.

Sam's eyes were latched onto the hammer now, a healthy uncertainty in his gaze, but all he said was, "Look, I'm not psycho. And I'm not lying."

"Well, you see," Cole pointed out, raising the hammer and making a show of shifting his grip on it. "That's exactly what a psycho liar would say, so… see my dilemma?"

"Cole… You don't have to do this."

It was true, Cole didn't particularly relish torture the way some guys he'd been stationed with did. He did, however, have a relatively easy time pushing his distaste back far enough to advance on Sam and tap the hammer gently but threateningly against the man's right knee.

"You're right," he agreed as Sam swallowed hard and clenched his jaw. "This doesn't have to happen, Sammy. Tell me how to find Dean. Then we can all walk away from this. Well, that might be harder for you at this point," Cole admitted, nodding to Sam's injured leg. "But I'll call some help for you and everything. You can get back to that sick guy you were talking about, and we'll all move on with our lives."

Cole leaned in closer, his free hand lashing out to grip the bullet wound in Sam's other thigh and squeeze, hard enough that the Winchester threw his head back and released a strangled shout of agony. "Last chance, Sammy. Where… is… Dean?"

"G-go… to… hell."

"Wrong answer, Sammy boy." Leaning back up, Cole shifted his grip on the hammer and swung for the kneecap. Shattered bone and shattered screams rent the air, but the sounds were easy enough to tune out; it would stop when Sam wanted it to.


	3. To the Very Gates of Hell

Sam couldn't hold back the soft moans of pain that kept escaping him, his attempt to show no fear betrayed by the shuddering of his body. His vision was coated in a layer of red as blood dripped down his forehead into his one good eye. The other was swollen shut already, but that was the least of his injuries.

The hunter's entire lower body felt like he was back in the Cage, fire piercing the thigh of one leg and the knee of his other. His rib cage was screaming; how many ribs had Cole succeeded in breaking so far? Sam had felt at least one snap, but there were probably more.

He didn't even know by now how long Cole had been working him over. Hours? And yet Cole was infinitely patient, revealing not a hint of urgency. He was cold and methodical; Sam could tell the soldier had been trained how to inflict pain. But Sam had withstood torture before, and he would endure far worse than this and never give his brother up.

Sam could only pray that Cole never managed to contact Dean.

"You're a pretty hardy guy, Sammy," Cole said now, for all the world like they were discussing the weather, like he wasn't currently wiping Sam's blood off a pair of brass knuckles. "I can respect that. I was hoping I could keep taking it easy on you, but you're making this way worse for yourself. Tell me how to find Dean, and this will all be over."

"You'll… never find him," Sam groaned, bowed forward and good eye half-closing.

"He'll come looking for you eventually. Looks like your GPS is turned on, so at some point-"

Cole broke off, both of them gazing towards the door as the sound of a car's motor drifted in from outside. Sam's heart froze, icy dread dripping down his back before he realized that wasn't the familiar rumble of the Impala. Besides, Dean was probably long gone, probably consumed by the Mark already. But then who…?

"Finally," Cole whispered, jerking a rag out of his duffel of toys. "Gonna need you to stay quiet now, Sammy."

"No-" But he was cut off as Cole shoved the rag into his mouth, silencing his yell. Sam watched with wide eyes as the soldier grabbed his gun up again and hurried for the front wall of the barn, pressing against it so that he would be out of sight of whoever walked through the door.

The silence was interminable, Sam's shoulders shaking as he struggled to breathe through his nose, clogged with blood. His terrified gaze remained latched on the door of the barn.

When it creaked open, Sam tried to shout a warning, but it disappeared in a muffled whimper into the rag.

"Sam…?"

In the doorway, unaware of the danger he was in, Cas stood staring at the hunter with wide, horrified eyes.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel wasn't sure what he had expected to find when he reached Sam's position. It was already all he could do to stay on his feet, to push himself forward when his head felt muddled with the cloud of slowly disintegrating grace. He supposed he really should have come up with a plan, but the quiet, steely coldness in the stranger's voice on the other end of the phone had filled the angel with urgency.

Reaching Sam, as quickly as possible, had preceded all other thoughts.

Pushing the door open with more effort than it should have taken, Castiel was met with the most chilling sight he could have been expecting.

He had found Sam, but he was clearly too late to save his young friend from the torture that had already been meted out. The hunter was covered in blood and bruises, agony etched into every line of his face. He was bound to a chair, a wad of cloth stuffed into his mouth, entire body heaving from pain and desperation.

Why? Castiel's mind clouded even more in confusion and anger as he limped swiftly forward. Why had the stranger done this to Sam?

Sam was trying to shout something, words lost in the gag. Castiel reached out and pulled the cloth free, even as his fractured grace finally pinged with the obvious fact that his exhausted mind had overlooked: Sam's captor was still there.

"Behind you!" Sam shouted as soon as he was able, but the angel never got that far.

He'd only managed to turn halfway around when a bruising pain exploded in the side of his face. As dizzy as he was, the blow was enough to knock Castiel off-balance, sending him reeling into a small table close by. The angel tried to catch himself on it, bringing his sword arm up with the foggy idea of fighting back. He needed to protect Sam…

Three faces swam into view before slowly filtering into a single image of a scowling man with fist raised. Castiel couldn't duck in time to avoid the strike. This time, he went down to the floor with a heavy grunt.

"Cas! No!"

Pure reflex drove the angel to lurch back up before his attacker could finish him off. Listing to the side and stumbling against the table again, Castiel lashed out with his blade, determined to show this man that he was still an angel even in his weakened state. He heard a grunt of pain and felt the weapon catch on cloth and flesh.

It wasn't a solid hit, though, and he was still unsteady on his feet. Castiel felt a hand latch around his wrist and yank him around, twisting his non-sword arm behind his back. He was propelled forward against the table and shoved down over it, cheek resting on the rough wood.

Before the angel could try to shrug his attacker off, something cold and hard pressed against his temple. Castiel suspected it was a gun, and froze.

"No!" Sam cried out again, with the creak of a chair. "Cole, stop, please! He's got nothing to do with this!"

"Then he shouldn't be here," another voice pointed out from right above Castiel's ear. The gun pressed harder into the side of his head. Ordinarily, the angel would have had nothing to worry about, but in his current state, a bullet to the head might just be more than he could heal himself from.

"Cole, _please_. We- we didn't even _know_ him back then."

"Shut up, Sammy. You… Cas, is that right? Cas, you're gonna drop that little knife of yours, okay? And my gun isn't gonna go off and splatter your brains all over Sammy. He wouldn't like that very much. And I'd hate to think about what might happen to him if you get me all worked up."

Castiel swallowed back the shame and horror at just how easily his enemy had won, but there were precious few options at the moment. So much for coming to Sam's aid. Slowly, the angel allowed his blade to fall to the floor beside the table.

"There we go, that's real good, Cas."

The grip on his pinned wrist loosened and reached for his coat instead, hauling Castiel back up off the table. The gun didn't move from its position, though, as the man—Cole—said,

"Now real nicely, I want you to get down on your knees and put your hands on your head. Can you do that for me, sport?"

Castiel frowned at the calm condescension, but in the face of Sam's predicament, he had no choice but to comply with the request. The angel sank down to his knees and raised his hands to his head. The gun slid around, still pressing tightly to the back of his skull, and Sam was watching him with fearful eyes. Well… one eye, anyway. On closer inspection, Castiel could see how viciously the hunter had been beaten, and his blood boiled.

"Why are you doing this?" he snapped as he felt hands patting him down in search of more weapons. The bite in his voice was ruined somewhat by the fit of coughing that followed, wracking his form so hard that Cole had to grab his coat again to hold him still.

"Well, Cas, that's a long story," their captor replied. "I'm sure Sam will catch you up."

"You-" It was no use though. The exertion of the fight had wrecked Castiel's store of energy; he couldn't suppress the wet, rattling coughs… or the blood it carried from his lungs, spattering the ground in front of him. Why had he even thought he would be of use?

By the time the bout had passed, Cole had let go of his coat and Castiel was leaning forward on his hands and knees in a humiliating posture of weakness to ease the pain in his chest. His tired eyes could see the horror and alarm in Sam's expression when he finally managed to lift his gaze.

"Cas…?" Sam whispered.

Castiel's vision was filled instead with Cole's heavy boots as the man came to stand between him and his friend. Cole squatted down in front of him with an odd look. His pistol came to tilt the angel's chin upwards, but didn't remain there.

"You're the sick guy," Cole stated, expression clearing. "The one on the phone." He frowned then, blinking back what appeared to be surprise. "Man, how did you even _make it_ here?"

"I drove," Castiel rasped, staring right back in equal surprise. "I don't understand… you- you're not a demon. Or an angel. What kind of monster…?"

Cole straightened back up and rolled his eyes. "I can see you've both been drinking the same Kool-Aid," he snapped.

"What? I've never had Kool-Aid." Castiel murmured, not sure what the powdered beverage might have to do with anything, but realizing one thing with perfect clarity: human… Cole was nothing but _human_.

Cole gave him an odd look, then shook his head and took the angel's arm. He pulled Castiel upright, only to urge him back down again a few feet away, close to a beam that ran from the floor to the rafters in support of the roof. With the gun still in Cole's hand, and Sam in such helpless proximity, Castiel allowed his wrists to be bound behind him around the beam by a smooth, plastic zip.

"Welcome to the party, Cas," Cole said with a grunt as he moved back around to paw through the angel's pockets.

Castiel frowned, slumping back against the support, grateful that he at least didn't have to hold his own weight up. "I fail to see anything festive about these circumstances."

"Your pal's a little slow, huh, Sammy?" Cole asked over his shoulder as he relieved Castiel of his cell phone and turned it on. "No worries. You just sit tight, okay, Cas? I can see you're not going to be much of a threat, so there's really no reason to hurt you unless you give me one. You're not gonna give me one, right?"

Castiel angled a glare up at his captor, torn between outrage and mortification, especially when Cole smiled down at him with the same blank condescension.

"Just… leave him alone," Sam whispered from his chair, also slumped and seeming disheartened. "He- he's not the one you want."

"Well now, you're right about that," agreed Cole as he turned his back on the angel and flipped his phone on with a soft beep. "Besides, there's no point in killing a guy who's nearly dead already."

The angel looked away quickly as Sam's horrified gaze shot over to him, not wanting his young friend to see the truth in Cole's words. The man only chuckled softly and went on,

"Yeah, there's no hiding it. I know the look. Seen it in too many soldiers' faces, the look of someone who knows they're a dead man walking. He'll die soon with or without me."

"Cas?" Sam whispered, his tone heartbreakingly young and gentle in spite of his own horrible wounds. Castiel continued to avoid his gaze but was too exhausted to convincingly refute the words or offer reassurance.

Cole turned back to Castiel now, holding his phone up with a frown as he knelt down in front of the bound angel. "You have Dean listed as a contact here."

The angel's mouth tightened. "Yes," he agreed, seeing no harm in doing so. "You won't be able to find him that way, though. The voice says his number isn't in service."

"Then how would you get in touch with him?" the man demanded.

Sam straightened in his chair, a low rustling at the sudden movement as he gasped out, "Cole, you _son of a bitch_ , leave him out of this! You've already got _me_!"

"Answer the question, Cas," Cole snapped over Sam's protest, his casual unconcern disappearing into impatience and threat.

Castiel stared at the man, slowly shaking his head. "Don't you think-" he started, before a harsh cough forced him to pause. The angel wheezed for breath, head lolling forward. It took a moment before he'd regained enough air to choke out, "Don't you think… if I could have contacted Dean for backup… I wouldn't have come on my own, in this condition?"

Cole's hand lashed out and grabbed the angel by the collar, yanking him forward as Cole pushed his face right up next to Castiel's. "You getting smart with me, boy?"

Any answer Castiel had was lost in a fit of raspy, hacking coughs that left his chest hurting and his head dizzy. By the time it had cleared, Cole had released his grip and stood again.

"I can see you're not going to do me much good," the man conceded with a shrug, pocketing the phone. "That's alright. You can still help me out. I'm sure if you came all this way for Sammy, you probably don't want to see him get hurt, right?"

Castiel felt his heart freeze in his chest as Cole circled back around to Sam, resting a hand on the young man's shoulder. No… please, no, he couldn't let anything happen to Sam, his charge, his _family,_ right there in front of him. He couldn't sit there and watch his friend be tortured, helpless to fly to his aid.

"What do you want?" he croaked.

"I need your help convincing Sam here to just give me the answers I need," Cole explained. He rested the gun on Sam's other shoulder, the threat obvious. "Why don't _you_ ask him where Dean is?"

"Cas, he'll _kill_ him."

For a moment, Castiel wasn't sure which pronoun belonged to which man, before realizing that it didn't matter. Either way, they might lose Dean. He stared at Cole and slowly shook his head.

"He isn't going to tell you."

"Sure he will," Cole replied easily. He shifted around so fast that Sam and Castiel both jumped, the barrel of the gun jamming into the wound on Sam's thigh so that the hunter bucked back and cried aloud with agony. "It won't be pretty," Cole went on, "but he'll tell me eventually."

"Stop!" Castiel snapped, maneuvering himself forward despite the weariness in his body. "He will _never_ betray Dean, no matter what you do to him!" The angel lifted his head, eyes flashing. "And neither will I."

Cole's eyebrows rose, looking between the bound angel and the wounded warrior. Tension mounted, the air nearly crackling with the convergence of wills, before Cole suddenly straightened with a small smile.

"Like I said… sure he will."

He moved like lightning, one hand clamping on Sam's right knee while his gun aimed at the hunter's foot. The violent report from the pistol wasn't enough to cover the sound of Sam's screams. Castiel lurched forward, his lungs exploding at the maneuver, but he couldn't save his friend nor reach the man so cruelly tormenting him.

It was only luck that Castiel truly _didn't_ have the answers Cole was looking for, because the angel knew in that moment that he would have given their captor anything to buy a little mercy for Sam. He couldn't betray Dean, but neither could he betray the younger Winchester, equally dear to Castiel. His heart crumbled as Sam choked on breathless cries, obviously trying to hold back the sounds but unable.

With gritted teeth and moisture in his own eyes, Castiel locked his piercing blue gaze on Cole and ground out, "If it's the last thing I do, I will kill you myself and save Dean the trouble."

Cole shrugged, tucking the gun and Castiel's blade into his duffel, which he then hoisted onto his shoulder. "You do that, friend," he replied. "I'm sure you two have plenty to discuss so I'll leave you alone for a while. While I'm gone… you boys should do some serious thinking about whether a monster like Dean is really worth dying for."

With one final pat to Sam's shoulder, Cole turned for the door and disappeared outside.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam concentrated all his effort on controlling his breaths, trying to keep them steady. If only the pain would stop… both legs were wrecked, and breathing only exacerbated the fire in his chest from the broken ribs. Moving hurt. Sitting still hurt. Even _thinking_ hurt.

"Sam?" Cas murmured from his position by the beam, barely visible with nothing but a single lantern to illuminate the barn. "Sam."

"Yeah," he whispered back. "I… I'm alright." The hunter snorted softly at the ridiculousness of this lie. He hadn't felt less alright since… well, since Lucifer. A shudder trembled through his body, the agony making it all the easier to start imagining he was back _there_ again.

" _Sam_ ," Cas said, more insistent. "Stay with me."

Releasing his tensely held breath, Sam turned his attention to the angel. Cas was watching him with pain-filled eyes and clenched jaw. But the hunter could also see the dullness in his gaze, the white pallor of his skin, and the sheen of sweat and fever. Guilt crept into Sam's heart.

"I didn't mean… to get you into this," he said with a sigh. "Cas, I'm so sorry."

"No," the angel replied, straightening as much as he could. "Sam, I'm the one who is sorry. I… I'm afraid I've failed as your guardian. Yet again."

The bitterness in his voice was more than Sam could take, though he didn't know how to reassure his friend. It was hard to concentrate through the shroud of pain. "How can you still not see yourself any clearer than that?" he asked as he shook his head. "How long did it take you to get here?"

"Too long. I followed your-"

"Cas," Sam interrupted gently. "I mean, how far did you have to come, barely able to walk, just to find me? How far did you have to drag yourself when you're as sick as you are, just because you knew I was in trouble? Wouldn't it have been easier to just give me up?"

"Give you up?" Cas repeated with a tone of anger and disbelief. "I will never _give you up_ , Sam."

A tired smile briefly swept over Sam's face and he closed his eyes. "See? Exactly. I'd pick you as a guardian any day."

A brief stretch of silence fell, before the hunter swallowed hard and managed to ask, "Cas? He said… you were dying."

Another silence. When Sam opened his eyes, Cas was watching him with sorrow, mixed with something that looked horribly like resignation. The hunter shook his head.

"I mean, he was wrong though, right? You would have told us. We wouldn't have left you there in that motel to die all alone. We… we would have done something. He was wrong."

Still, the angel didn't answer. Sam could almost feel the weight of his world breaking apart.

"He was _wrong,_ " the hunter repeated savagely, twisting against his bonds and ignoring the bursts of fire it caused. "Dean's left me, Cas. You wouldn't do that to me, too. You came all this way…" God, the pain was too much, muddling his head. "You didn't come this far to die now. Cole doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Dean hasn't left you, Sam."

Sam heard a rustle of movement from the angel, followed by a quiet groan.

"You know... humans can be so unpredictable," Cas rasped on. "It's one reason the angels have a hard time with humanity. There's no order, no certainties but a very precious few. And one of those certainties, Sam, is Dean's loyalty to you. I don't know why we haven't been able to contact him, but it's _not_ because he's left you."

So strong was the angel's conviction, Sam could feel some of the tension lifting from his shoulders. He supposed it was possible there were other explanations… not that it would matter, if Cole killed him and Cas before Dean could find out what had happened.

But if Cole planned on doing _anything_ to Cas, it would have to be over Sam's dead body.

"It's your grace, isn't it?" Sam murmured, watching their angel closely. Cas fell silent and looked down.

"It… is burning out," he finally admitted in the stillness. "What I did, stealing another angel's grace and consuming it for myself…"

"You did what you had to."

"It doesn't change the fact that Theo's grace doesn't belong to me. This vessel wasn't made for it and... it can't hold it forever. Cole was right, Sam. I… I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I didn't want you or Dean to see me like this, to have to watch me die. I thought… I thought I was protecting you."

No.

Squaring his shoulders, Sam lifted his head and met the angel's gaze, a fierce fire growing in his heart that had nothing to do with his broken ribs. No. They had lost enough. The world was dark enough without losing the light of the only angel who had faithfully cared for creation since its dawning. The angel who would sacrifice himself again and again for a family who could only barely live up to such devotion. The angel who would rather die than lose a human under his care.

"No," Sam said out loud. "You're not going to die, Cas, because _I'm_ not going to let you. We're Winchesters. Me and Dean, you. We're going to get out of here, and we're going to figure this out, and _you_ are going to be fine."

"Sam-"

"And _that_ ," the hunter growled, cutting him off. "That's a certainty, too."


	4. Or to Heaven's Mighty Hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've finally caught up on the finale... woooo, what a doozy o.O But it seems to be inspiring all kinds of theories and follow-ups! In fact, Aini NuFire and I have just started working on a multi-chapter post-S12 collaboration, and I'm pretty excited about it! Without giving too many spoilers away, it follows a prompt she was given about what if the Cas who walked back OUT of the portal... wasn't necessarily the same Cas who walked IN?
> 
> But that's a story for another day ^_^ Meanwhile, let's catch up with Sam and Cas and see if they can manage to escape from Cole o.O

"So Dean killed Cole's father. That certainly explains _why_ he's doing this," Cas murmured, sounding worn out as Sam finished telling him what Cole had revealed. "What happened to him must have been horrible. Though it doesn't excuse him from turning into a monster himself."

"No," Sam agreed as he slumped back, his efforts to break the zip-tie binding his wrists nothing but a futile gesture. "It doesn't." He winced as a spasm of agony wracked his body when he inhaled too deeply. Sam shuddered, trying to hide the pain so that Cas wouldn't worry.

From the look the angel was angling at him, it wasn't working.

"We need to escape before he returns," Cas pointed out. "I think-" He paused to cough, the wet, hacking sounds standing as a sharp reminder that they were running out of time in more ways than one.

"Cas?"

"I'm fine," he managed to say. "I think I can… 'slip' this."

"You do?" Sam tried not to get his hopes up, but then again Cole _had_ seemed to think that Cas wouldn't require as much security as Sam. The angel was only tied by the wrists. Obviously, Cole didn't know him very well.

"Yes. I've been working at it for a while, and…" The angel grunted as his hands came free at last. "There."

Sam struggled to straighten himself as much as possible, biting his lip to stop from crying out as the movement jostled his shattered knee. "Great, Cas!" he forced out through clenched teeth. "Good work, buddy."

It hurt to watch Cas crawl forward a few feet before he could muster the strength to clamber upright, but the angel made a beeline for Sam as soon as he was able. When he got close enough for Sam to see clearer in the light of the lantern, the hunter frowned; Cas's arms were shaking and his wrists were bruised from the struggle, but the defensive marks were disappearing only very sluggishly. There'd been nothing supernatural or celestial about his restraints, though. Shouldn't he have recovered immediately?

"Hold on," Cas murmured, reaching a trembling hand for Sam's forehead.

A flicker of pain passed across the angel's face, to Sam's dismay, and he was just about to tell Cas not to worry about healing him, when the crippling agony in his legs and chest dulled ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but at least now he could see straight. Cas swayed, and Sam jerked back.

"Cas, don't," he warned. "You gotta save your strength."

"I need… to heal you…" But the angel stumbled back a step in what seemed to be a rush of vertigo.

Sam shook his head. "I'll be okay," he insisted, only a partial truth. "But I can't carry us both outta here. You did great, Cas, thank you. Can you get me loose?"

Cas nodded, shifting around behind Sam. The hunter nearly jumped when he felt how cold his friend's hands were, though, and after a moment of numb fumbling at the too tight zip-ties, Cas growled in muted frustration.

"I- I can't get them loose," he murmured. "I'm sorry, Sam, I need something to cut them with." There was a rustle of fabric as though the angel was in search for something in his coat, before he spoke up again. "Hold on. I have another angel blade in the trunk of the car."

"Okay." Sam watched his friend limp towards the door and his heart sank. Even if Cas got him loose… well, Sam planned to continue ignoring one very obvious fact until it became clear that it could be ignored no longer.

Instead, the hunter gamely held on, trying to take deep breaths in the hopes of easing the remaining pain that refused to be eased. He just needed to hold on long enough to get out of there, to get himself and Cas to safety, to find Dean.

When Cas returned, though, one look at his expression only confirmed Sam's fears.

"What is it?" he asked reluctantly, as Cas approached with the spare blade in hand.

The angel took a deep breath. "Cole… he let the air out of the tires. All of them. Sam, we're not getting out that way. We're going to have to walk."

Sam closed his eyes as Cas quickly sliced through the plastic ties, releasing him from the chair and stepping back wearily. Denial was no longer an option. The hunter swore.

"Okay. Alright," he whispered, before opening his eyes and swallowing. "Cas, go."

"What?"

"You can make it," Sam urged. "I'll hold Cole off as long as possible when he gets back. Buy you a few extra minutes at least. Follow the road until you hit he highway, just stay out of sight, okay? Stick to the woods, and-"

"I'm not leaving you here," Cas interrupted with a shadowed look. "We'll both-"

"Cas." Swallowing again, Sam shook his head. "Look at me," he murmured, gesturing to his ruined legs. "Why do you think he put a bullet in each? There's no way I can walk that far, Cas. And you're barely holding _yourself_ up. You can't get us both out… but you _can_ go for help. Cas, one of us has to make it to Dean, and there's no way it's me. Not like this."

The angel stepped back up to Sam, jaw clenched and eyes ferocious in the lantern light. "Abandon you here? To _him_? Who do you think you're talking to?" Cas snapped. "I said I'm _not_ leaving you, and that's final. I'll heal you a little at a time along the way. And if we can't walk any further, then we'll hide. _Together_."

"Cas-"

"And if you _don't_ come with me," the angel went on, drawing himself up, "then I'll sit right back down and wait with you for him to come back. But you're not facing him alone."

As exhausted as he was, Sam felt his throat closing up slightly at the show of loyalty—not that he should really expect any less of the angel, of course. It was exactly what Dean would have said. "Cas… I'm not gonna make it far."

"Neither am I," the angel pointed out. "With or without you. We'll get as far as we can and find somewhere to hide in the woods until we're both a little stronger."

Sam watched him for a moment, then sighed in resignation. He was too worn to argue. Cas nodded and stowed his blade away in his coat sleeve, then reached for the hunter to help him get to his feet. As soon as Sam tried to put any weight on his left leg, a strangled sob ripped out of his throat and he nearly buckled. It was all he could do not to vomit from the nausea brought on by the sudden onslaught of pain.

"Sam!" Cas managed to hold him upright, grabbing the hunter around the torso and using his other hand to pull Sam's arm across the angel's shoulders.

"I can't," the hunter whispered, voice tight with agony. "I can't use the right side at all, not with that knee."

"Alright. Hold on."

Before Sam could stop him, he felt more warm, healing light trickling into him, finding its way down to the bullet wound in his left thigh. Again, it wasn't much, but it dulled the pain a bit more until it was only a vicious throbbing. At least now he had one almost usable leg.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam gritted out, taking a couple of deep breaths and trying to support as much of his own weight as he could. Cas was definitely trembling now, and Sam was afraid the angel had already given too much. "Okay… I think we can make it-"

He cut off, heart stuttering to a halt, as the sound of a rumbling car engine filtered in from outside. Sam's mouth went dry. Cas gripped him tighter and shook his head.

"Sam… we have to fight."

There was no other option, the hunter knew that. "Get me to the door, quick," Sam urged. "I'll distract him, and you move in with the blade."

Cas nodded, lurching forward as they both half-limped, half-staggered to the doorway. The engine outside turned off as the angel helped Sam prop himself up against the wall, close enough to the entrance to leap on their captor as soon as he walked in. Trading a nod, Cas stepped back into the center of the room, angel blade falling back down into his hand.

The slow, firm footsteps crunching on gravel outside drew ever nearer. Sam felt his heartbeat racing, the thudding in his chest not making things any easier on his aching ribcage. His hands clenched into fists; he wasn't going down without a fight.

"What the-"

Cole stormed through the doorway, furious eyes latched onto Cas. As soon as he'd stepped through, Sam threw himself forward, grabbing the soldier. His weight bore them both down to the ground, though the hunter couldn't bite back a tortured yell as his ribs and ruined knee slammed into the ground. Sam's world exploded into a blinding, white-hot haze of agony but he clung to Cole as well as he could.

With a growl, Cole struck out at Sam, a fist slamming down against the hunter's unprotected knee. This time, Sam went limp. His breath was stolen, not even able to cry out and certainly not able to hold Cole back as the soldier slithered out from his grip.

He heard the commotion as Cas attacked, but no matter how hard the hunter tried to force himself to stay alert, the blackness came to wash over him with merciful unconsciousness.

SPN SPN SPN

Cole was furious, impressed, and surprised all in one. This 'Cas' guy hadn't been part of his research on Dean Winchester, but logic said the man could hardly be considered a serious threat, especially to one as well trained as Cole himself.

Logic be damned. Whether it seemed possible or not, the simple fact was that Cas must have gotten free, freed Sam, found another weapon, and managed to land a hit square to Cole's jaw with the pommel.

The solider found himself reeling backwards, shocked at the strength behind the strike. It drove him away from Sam, still prone on the ground, but Cole was sure the Winchester was down for the count.

"Okay," he said, keeping a calm face as he recovered, military instincts helping him to keep a clear head. "I underestimated you. My mistake."

"Yes," Cas growled, shadowed face turning fierce in the electric lantern light. "You did."

And then he charged, once again taking Cole by surprise. The blade flipped around in his hand, sharp edge swinging towards the soldier. Cole side-stepped, eyes widening briefly, but his hands flew out in the familiar maneuver to shove his attacker on by. Cas hit the wall of the barn and stumbled, already breathing heavily.

"You should have stayed put, sport," Cole said, drawing his gun from the small of his back and aiming it at Cas. "I was going to take it easy on you. Now we're gonna have to do things the hard way, aren't we?"

"I will not let you harm-" Cas broke off, coughing weakly and swaying where he stood, before finishing, "-Sam and Dean."

Cole raised his eyebrows, silent disdain and approval shifting through his mind. Loyalty was great, a code of the army, but when it was in the service of vicious killers like the Winchesters, it didn't speak well of the loyal party. He cocked the gun. "That so?"

Smiling a bit, Cole swung his arm so that the pistol was pointed at the prone form of Sam Winchester. His eyes remained locked on Cas, though, daring him to make a move to prove his words. As he'd expected, the man charged forward with blind intent, his strange weapon raised.

Ready for him, Cole timed his move perfectly, waiting until the last minute to drop his gun and reach for Cas instead. As weary as his enemy was, he couldn't change direction in time. Cole grabbed his sword arm with both his own hands, flinging him around and throwing a foot out to sweep Cas's legs out from under him. They both went down, fighting for control over the blade, but Cole had the superior position. He wrenched the sword away, though Cas made one last desperate attempt to grab it back by the blade with his bare hand.

Blue light filled the room, along with a sharp cry of pain. Cole jerked away, flinging himself away from his enemy as his eyes widened in shock.

"What the-"

What the _hell_ was this?! That light was coming from _Cas, w_ here the blade had sliced his palm open. Cole jumped to his feet, standing over his downed opponent with the sword pointed directly at him.

"What's going on?" he snarled as Cas—whatever the hell he was—weakly tried to pull himself backwards away from Cole. "What was that?! What are you, some kind of alien?"

"No," Cas whispered, still inching away. "I'm not- I'm not an alien."

Furious and shaken, Cole wrapped his other hand around the blade and made a quick slice, just to verify whether it was the weapon itself or this _thing_ on the floor that was completely… wrong. It stung and drew a line of normal, red blood. Cole's eyes narrowed and he advanced on the alien, who collapsed back down and held his hands up. The wound on his palm continued to glow, before the light faded away. But Cole knew what he'd seen.

"Wait," Cas choked out. "I'm an angel."

"And I'm the tooth fairy."

"I'm not an alien. I'm… an angel of the Lord… I protect… Sam and Dean."

Right, because an _angel_ would be barely able to take a breath after so short a fight, because angels got _sick,_ because the _Winchesters_ were somehow deserving of Heavenly protection. No one had been protecting Cole's dad. No one had been protecting _dozens_ of good men he'd seen die in the service of their country. Cole hadn't believed in that sort of thing in a long, long time. Still, he had to believe what his own eyes told him; Cas was _something_. And sick or not, Cole would make dead sure he wasn't going anywhere this time.

The soldier's eyes flicked around the barn. An industrial spool of twine sat in a near corner. That would do.

"Lucky for you, I don't give a damn what you are," he snapped. "Get up." Cole reached for Cas, keeping the blade close to his enemy's throat as he gripped the collar of the… 'angel's'… overcoat and hauled him to his knees. "It's over. Make a move, and I'll put you down, then use this funny sword to take one of Sammy's eyes. Got it?"

Cas didn't say anything, but he also didn't try to fight as Cole shifted behind him and sliced off a long length of the twine.

"You know, Cas," the solider remarked as he grabbed one of the guy's wrists and started tying a series of loops. "Angel, alien, human, it doesn't matter. I told you there was no reason to hurt you as long as you didn't give me one. Now you've given me one. So you know what comes next, right?"

Still no response. As long as Cas understood he'd lost, and now Cole was going to have to ensure another escape attempt was out of the question. Forcing Cas's arms up so that his hands were close his neck, elbows pointed upwards, Cole looped the twine around the 'angel's' throat and then bound his remaining wrist.

As soon as he let go and Cas's arms fell slack, the loop around his neck twisted and tightened, making him choke as his panicked eyes widened.

"That's right," Cole said, standing back. "Better keep your arms up. And I wouldn't struggle too much if I were you, or you're gonna tighten that more and suffocate yourself."

"Cole…" Cas choked out, before tilting his elbows up further to relieve the tightness around his throat. "I know you think you have to do this-"

"Well, see, I wouldn't have needed to if you and Sam had given me what I wanted," the soldier pointed out. "And even if you _are_ some kind of… alien… _thing_ , what I said before stands. All I want is Dean. You give me that, you and Sammy can still walk away from this."

Though, he was becoming less and less sure of that. Cole glared at his two captives, mind racing. He hadn't planned on killing anyone but Dean. The soldier had calculated for contingencies, but it'd never occurred to him that he'd be factoring _monsters_ into the equation. Maybe Sam hadn't been totally crazy… maybe there _were_ monsters.

Like these two. Like Dean. He just didn't know anymore.

"I will not give you Dean," the angel guy insisted.

Cole shrugged and tossed the short sword onto the nearby table. With his arms immobilized, Cas wouldn't be able to get up and fight before the soldier reached it again. "If you say so," he dismissed.

Turning back towards the unconscious Sam, Cole reached down and hooked his arms under the Winchester's. Dragging Sam back towards the chair, the soldier had to struggle a bit to get the dead weight back into the seat, but by the time he had his victim situated and securely bound again, Sam was starting to stir and groan.

"I'll tell you one thing though, Cassie boy," Cole tossed over his shoulder as he went to retrieve his gun. "It sure seems to me that you and Sam would go pretty far to protect each other. So no matter how loyal you might feel to Dean… one of you will give him up. I don't care which one. And I don't care what I have to do to make that happen. Keep that in mind."

SPN SPN SPN

Dean twisted the glass back and forth on the bar top, gaze faraway and mind even farther. The backup cell phone rested on the smooth wood beside him, still blessedly quiet. Dean wasn't sure why he'd even brought it in with him; if Sammy _did_ call, would he even answer it? How many times could he hear the same lecture about his reckless ways and how he needed to come home, before he screamed?

And yet, the fact that Sam _hadn't_ called left Dean… uncertain.

"You want another, honey?" the bartender asked, watching him as she dried a fresh set of glasses.

Dean glanced at her and forced a smile. "What the hell?"

She wasn't the type he was apt to flirt with, more matronly than sexy. In a way, she actually reminded him of Ellen, which hurt almost enough to make the hunter leave. Her smile wasn't sensual and flirty, but gentle and sympathetic.

Dean didn't want her sympathy. He didn't _deserve_ her sympathy.

But the whiskey she poured him helped sooth the bubbling anger he felt simmering away deep down, so he tossed it back.

"Whatever it is," the matronly bartender said suddenly, hand on hip as she waited for him to set the glass down so she could fill it again, "you'd be surprised how far 'I'm sorry' goes."

Dean swallowed the liquor and stared at her. "What?"

She chuckled softly, shaking her head and raising an eyebrow. "Honey, I've seen all the looks. You're trying to drink something away, arguing with someone you don't wanna argue with. You look like a guy who's done wrong and knows it. Whatever it is, _whoever_ it is, talking's gonna work a lot better than another fifth. Trust me on that."

Setting his glass down and tapping it to indicate another shot, Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well, sometimes there's nothing to say. How many times can you go down the same road, making the same damn mistakes, before even family figures out there's no saving you?"

"Depends," she replied. "You wanna be saved?"

"Now you sound like my brother." Dean shook his head, looking at his whiskey as the bartender set the bottle back down. The truth was, yes… yes, he did desperately want to be saved. He wanted this damn Mark off of his soul. He wanted to _not_ have to fight every second of every day to hold back the anger and violence it made him feel. He wanted to not have to worry that the next time he snapped, it might be at someone he loved.

But more than anything, he wanted Sammy to be safe, and if he had to ensure that by pushing him away, then so be it. There was no reason for his little brother to have to watch him slowly lose control.

No matter how much he wanted to be saved, and to earn Sam's forgiveness, Dean didn't for one second fool himself into believing he deserved it.

"Besides," he added, looking again at the still silent phone, "I doubt he wants to talk to me."

This time, the bartender laughed. Dean looked up at her in confusion, as she tipped him a wry grin.

"Anyone ever tell you you're a terrible liar, honey?" she asked. "Even _you_ don't buy that." Turning, she put the whiskey back on the shelf then looked back at Dean. "I'm gonna do you a favor and cut you off. Go home, honey. Talk to your brother. You're too cute to look so miserable."

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but she only gave him a pointed look, the hardened expression of someone who'd dealt with too many ornery drunks and come out on top.

"Go on," she said, jerking her head towards the phone. "You'll thank me later."

The hunter sighed. What was the worst that could happen? He'd call Sam, and his brother would be mad at him and refuse to talk, and then at least Dean would _know_ he was doing the right thing by staying away. It would break his heart, of course… but hell, he was going to break eventually, anyway.

Or maybe… maybe Sammy would tell him again to come home.

Maybe Dean would listen this time. Maybe he _wanted_ Sam to convince him.

Sighing, the hunter picked up his glass, needing this final shot of liquid courage. He tossed it back, wincing at the burn though he barely felt it anymore, then picked up the cell. Eyeing the bartender and her gentle smile, Dean felt something in him loosen.

"Thanks," he muttered, before pushing a few bills her direction and sliding off the bar stool. The hunter wound his way towards the door, already dialing Sam.


	5. I'm Coming For You, Brother

The first thing Sam noticed as his eyes blearily tried to blink open was the brightness. The second immediate sensation was pain. The hunter groaned, then flinched when something close to him moved.

"Sammy. Welcome back."

Sam jolted, instinctively trying to move away; it was no use, he was bound to that damn chair again, the zip-ties pulled even tighter than before so that he could barely feel his hands. Glaring against the lantern shining in his eyes, the hunter snapped,

"It's _Sam_."

It was starting to come back to him… he and Cas had tried to make a stand. He must have passed out. Cas?!

Sam's eyes darted around the barn, feeling both relief and sorrow to find Cas still with him, tied up as well. It took the hunter a second to figure out how exactly Cole had restrained the angel, but just listening to his friend wheeze for air in exhaustion renewed Sam's fury.

"What did you do?" he snarled, jerking at his bonds. "You son of a bitch!"

Cole raised his eyebrows, then glanced back at Cas, sitting back against the beam he'd previously been tied to. The angel didn't say anything, just flicked his gaze dully from their captor back to Sam. Every time his shaking arms started to sag, his breathing hitched and faded. 

"Oh, that?" Cole asked, getting to his feet and walking back over to Cas, who pulled away with a glower. Cole looked back to Sam and shrugged. "Officially, of course, we never did this to any prisoners we interrogated. Off the record? I can tell you, 100% guaranteed, eventually he'll stop breathing completely. You boys should have stayed put like I told you to, Sam."

Sam yanked against the zip-ties with all his strength, teeth gritted as the plastic cut into his wrists and held. "Just let him go!" he demanded. "He's _sick_. And I'm the only one you need to get you to Dean."

"See, I'd like to believe that, Sammy," Cole assured him as he strode over and pointed Cas's angel blade at the bound hunter. Sam leaned away from him as the soldier went on, "But so far you haven't done me any good on your own."

He lowered the blade to Sam's cheek and slashed quickly across. Though Sam fought the urge to make a sound, he couldn't hold back the grunt of pain. Cole didn't seem interested in torturing him more, though, peering intently at the scratch he'd made and then shrugging again.

"So I guess it's just this guy, huh?"

Sam started to frown in confusion before the implication struck him harder than Cole's hammer had. Oh shit… So Cole knew. Licking dry lips, the hunter murmured,

"Cole, _listen_ to me. Cas… me… we're not the bad guys."

"Of course that's what you would say," Cole retorted with a light smirk. He wiped the angel blade off and set it down carefully on the table next to the other torture instruments, gleaming in the lantern light. "But you expect me to believe some 'angel' would be looking out for Dean Winchester? Nah. Sorry, boys, but if you were telling the truth about monsters, it looks like I've got two of them right here. And the third… well, he'll be here."

"Cole, you don't understand! Dean is _not_ a monster!"

"He murdered an innocent man! In cold blood, you understand that, Sammy? My father was a good man, and your brother cut him down!"

"Listen," Sam tried again, earnest and desperate as his eyes briefly flicked to Cas and then back to Cole. "I don't know what happened. Okay? I wasn't there-"

"I don't need you to tell me what happened, because I _was_ there," Cole interrupted, fists clenching.

"-but I know my brother. I _know_ him. And Dean wouldn't have come anywhere near your dad unless he knew that he was a monster. I don't know how he knew, I don't know what your dad was, I only know that Dean did the right thing, and probably saved your life."

"Did the right thing?"

This time, the interruption came with a chilly tone, a coldness that sent a shudder down Sam's spine. The hunter swallowed, wary gaze latched onto Cole now as the soldier closed the distance and leaned over Sam with death in his eyes.

"The right thing," Cole repeated softly. "Hmm. So you're saying, if you'd been there, you wouldn't have stopped him? Wouldn't have even tried."

Sam took a deep breath. He knew where this was going, the dangerous road the conversation was going down, but what was he supposed to say? Cole was hardly likely to listen, either way. Lying would be equal to betraying his brother. When the hunter didn't reply, Cole's hand lashed out and grabbed Sam around the throat.

"Well, Sammy?"

"Cole, stop this," Cas snapped from behind them as Sam choked and gasped for oxygen. The pressure on his windpipe eased only slightly, enough for him to answer,

"If he was a monster… then yes… I would have… killed him."

The hand on his throat disappeared as Cole whirled to face Cas next, storming over and giving him a hard prod with his boot.

"And you?" the soldier demanded. "How about you, 'angel'? What would you have done?"

Cas stared up at Cole, brow furrowing deeper. "The Winchesters are good men," he said simply. "I'm sorry for what was taken from you. I am not sorry for the fate you avoided thanks to Dean. I know what you want me to say… but I stand with them."

For a moment, Cole didn't say anything, just regarded the angel, then turned back to Sam. His expression was unreadable, but Sam's heart beat faster with unease. Finally, Cole nodded.

"Well, that does make this much easier. Thank you kindly."

So they had just sealed their fates, Sam thought as his stomach clenched. And now the Winchesters had—once again—taken Cas down with them. He wanted to speak up, to find a way to convince Cole to at least spare Cas, but then again he hadn't really expected the soldier would _actually_ let them go after he'd found Dean. At least, Cole would have to be insane to let Sam Winchester live, should anything happen to his brother.

But before anything could be said, the uneasy silence was broken by a loud jingle, Sam's phone from the table where it had been set. In the split second of shock, Sam couldn't tell if he was more desperate for it to be Dean, or anyone in the world _but_ his brother.

From the way Cole's eyes lit up, it was clear what he was hoping for. He strode over to the phone and picked it up, then frowned.

"Bruce Wayne," he read, turning to Sam. "Is that an alias for Dean?"

"No," Sam lied, even though his heart leaped. Dean hadn't run out on him after all… something must have happened to his cell, if he was using the backup. "A hunting buddy. That's his handle. He never gives out his real name."

Cole watched him, doubt and shrewdness in his penetrating gaze. After years upon years of conning his way through almost everything, though, Sam never let his poker face falter. Finally, the ringing fell silent, and Sam found himself hoping Dean would get pissed off and drop it.

"Well, let's see if this hunting buddy leaves a message," Cole replied evenly, holding the phone up, all but daring Sam to change his mind. The hunter didn't budge. The silence hung in the air, lingering like a stench, as the room stood still.

Even when a little tone informed him a voicemail had been received, Sam refused to let his expression show his anxiety.

"Hmm." Cole turned around grabbing Cas by the coat and jerking him forward. Sam's eyes widened in dismay as his friend was dragged towards him until they were only a few feet apart with Cas kneeling on the barn floor. The angel was obviously trying to hold as still as possible so that he wouldn't close off his own airway, but his expression was cautionary and reassuring.

Sam didn't shift in his seat until Cole grabbed the angel blade and merely held it loosely in his grip. The soldier watched Sam and held up the phone.

"So," he said conversationally. "If I play this voicemail, it's not going to be Dean."

"No."

Finally, the blade came to Cas's chest, point hovering over his heart. Sam's gut clenched.

"No!" he shouted, trying to fight free. "Cole, stop it!"

Cole shook his head. "Sammy… be smart. I'm about to find out anyway, so why don't you make things much easier for yourself, and for poor ol' Cas here, and tell me the truth. Is that Dean?"

Shit. Seeing that Cole had clearly called his bluff, Sam closed his eyes. He couldn't let Cole hurt Cas. Turning his head, the hunter sighed and muttered, "…Yes."

"Thank you."

The angel blade hadn't moved, when Sam chanced a glance back over. Cole was fiddling with the phone, giving Sam and Cas a moment to share a look between them; the hunter apologetic, the angel worried but understanding.

"Sammy," Dean's voice spoke out in the empty barn. "Hey, uh… look, don't be a little bitch, answer the phone. I, uh, finished the vamps off. And yes, everything's fine. And, um, I just…" There was a pause, then a sigh.

Sam's heart twisted a little more, hearing the guilt in Dean's voice, the same guilt that was driving the older hunter away. He thought Sam was just ignoring the call… did Dean think he was angry? Suddenly, the hunter was furious that Cole was listening to this private moment between brothers, when it was _his_ fault Sam couldn't answer anyway.

"I just figured I'd give you a call," Dean finished. "You know, make sure you're not sitting up worrying like a little old maid. Guess you're not too bothered, though." Another pause, another sigh, then a curse. "I didn't mean- Damn it, Sam, just call me back, okay?"

The message ended, and Sam met Cas's eyes again. The angel's mouth twisted, obviously able to hear for himself how distant Dean sounded compared to his normal self. The moment was broken when Cole chuckled.

"Well," he said to no one in particular. "I was right. Figured big brother would call eventually. Okay, Sammy, it's showtime."

"What?" Sam snapped, trying to sit up straighter. He glared at Cole as the soldier set the phone on the arm of the chair Sam was tied to.

"You're going to call him back," Cole explained, digging in his pocket for a piece of paper. "And you're going to have him meet you at the address written here."

"If you think he's just gonna-"

"And you're not going to breathe a word about me," Cole cut him off. "You're a pretty smooth liar, Sammy. So you're gonna lie. And you're gonna pray that he believes you when you act like everything's cool and you're not in any trouble, because if I even think that you're trying to warn him…"

He didn't finish. The blade pressing ever closer to Cas's heart said it all.

With that kind of leverage, Sam could only lower his eyes in defeat, jaw tightening. He glanced at the paper Cole set in his lap—an address in La Crosse, Kansas. The hunter wasn't sure if that was where they were being held, or a separate location that Cole had picked out beforehand. The idea of being forced to lead Dean straight into a trap made him furious, but Cas was in even more immediate trouble.

Besides… Cole didn't know the Winchesters as well as he might think.

The barn fell silent as Cole pushed the button to call Dean and switched the phone to speaker, then stepped behind Cas. He grabbed the twine looping the angel's throat and pulled it snug.

Sam swallowed as the phone rang, waiting. His eyes latched onto Cas; the angel met his gaze, expression mirroring Sam's own worry, but the hunter was equally anxious about the way Cas was obviously struggling for every inhalation. Cole's grip allowed the angel little room to breathe, and the blade pressing against his chest left him an inch from execution.

The line clicked, to Sam's relief and dismay.

"So, what, you're ignoring my calls now?" Dean snapped instead of hello, though Sam read the worry between the lines.

He winced, trying not to imagine his brother sitting there alone with the belief that Sam could ever give up on him.

Still, with Cas's life at stake, Sam's only choice was to play along.

"No, sorry, man. I missed it. Chill out."

"Chill out?" Dean repeated, irritated voice filling the barn. "You're the one who's all 'don't forget to call me every single damn night', and then you can't even bother to answer?"

"Hey!" Sam snapped, glaring at the phone. "You went off and left me in this stupid, funky town!" _I'm being forced to call you._

To his credit, Dean never missed a beat, not even a second of hesitation to hint that a distress signal had been sent. In the same irritated voice, he growled,

"Yeah, I heard you the first hundred times you whined about it, Sam! News flash: I'm not deaf!" _I hear you._

"Well, if you're done playing cowboy," Sam retorted in character, "come meet me."

"Fine. Where are you?"

Sam snorted. "Poughkeepsie," he drawled, heavy on the sarcasm, hoping Dean would just accept the message as a warning not to come, to just hit the road and keep running… to stay far away from Sam.

More importantly, to stay far away from Cole.

_Drop everything and run._

As expected, though, Dean was having none of it: "Sam, would you stop being an idiot?" _No._

The hunter sighed, wary of Cole's shrewd eyes on him, mindful to continue sounding like two brothers having a squabble rather than passing coded messages back and forth.

"Sorry," he muttered. He glanced at the paper Cole had set before him. Quickly, he read off the address, eyes drifting to Cas. He hesitated, but Cole had never said he wasn't allowed to mention the angel, and Dean needed to know. "Me and Cas already finished up anyway. Figured we'd hit up a bar nearby."

"Cas?" Dean repeated, genuine surprise coloring his tone. "What, Cas is there? Hey, Cas."

Immediately, Cole pulled at the twine wrapped around Cas's neck to choke off any chance of response. The angel blade pressed in more insistently, enough that Cas released a soft, strangled moan of pain. With a glare, Cole shook his head at Sam with a clear warning.

Sam got the message. Glaring back at Cole, he nevertheless kept his voice casual as he passed along another distress call right under the soldier's nose: "He's in the restroom." _Cas is sick._

"Oh, well, whatever," Dean rejoined, equally even. Though he sounded utterly unconcerned, Sam knew he'd understood the message when he added, "Anyway… spill. Scale of one to ten, how hot are the chicks there?" _How sick?_

"I don't know… nine? Ten? You'd love it." _Very._

"Yeah? How many numbers did you get?" _How many bad guys?_

"Just one, believe it or not," Sam answered with a shrug. But Cole was more than enough of a threat, just by himself.

"Hey, that's my boy," Dean snickered as Cole shifted in impatience. "What did you guys go all the way out to La Crosse for, anyway?"

He'd opened the door for Sam to insert any one of a hundred code words, for just about any kind of monster the hunters had ever come across. Sam could only shake his head, though, watching Cole with narrowed eyes as he said,

"No real reason. Just… something to do." _Not a monster_ —which only left human.

At this point, though, Cole had twisted the twine another turn so that Cas's face was quickly turning a grotesque shade of purple, beaded in sweat as he weakly shifted in the soldier's grip. Sam's jaw clenched at the cruelty but he kept his voice even, still putting on a show.

"Anyway, I should go. Gotta be Cas's wingman." _Hang up. He's threatening Cas._

"Fine. I'll meet you in… five, six hours. Sorry, Sammy, La Crosse is nowhere close to me. Tell Cas I said hey and I'll see him soon. And _you_ … stay out of trouble." _I'm coming, Sammy. Hang in there._

"Yep. Bye."

The line went dead with a click and Cole released Cas. The angel immediately gasped for air, his tight wheezes shifting into alarmingly violent coughs that only made him wheeze harder. Sam watched in horror as a trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his friend's mouth.

It struck him then that if Cas's grace was no longer strong enough to heal him, he might well crack some ribs of his own from these coughing fits.

"Cas!" he couldn't help but shout. " _Cas_!"

"Alright, buddy," Cole said, guiding the slipping angel down to the floor on his side. Even with the extra slack, Cas couldn't seem to catch his breath fully, and when the coughing finally stopped, the angel's eyelids were drooping with exhaustion.

"Cole, _please_ , just let him go," Sam pleaded. He was more than willing to swallow his pride and resort to begging, if it would save Cas's life.

The soldier merely shrugged. "No can do, Sammy," he replied, before turning his attention back to the angel. "But tell you what, Cas. Sammy did real good on the phone, so I'm gonna let you lay down for a bit, alright? Give your arms a break. Can't have you dying too fast on me, 'cause I might still need you."

Jerking against his bonds despite the agony it caused his battered body, Sam snapped, "Just untie him, you son of a bitch! Look at him, he's not going anywhere!"

Straightening, Cole stepped over to the little table and leaned against it, arms crossed with blade still in hand. "Yeah," he drawled, shooting Sam a knowing look. "That's what I thought last time. So you can both stay right where you are. We've got some time to kill."

Sam's heart sank, familiar with what happened when their enemies got bored. His thoughts must have shown on his face, because Cole gave him another look and snorted.

"Relax, Sammy. Don't give me a reason to hurt you, and I won't have to."

The hunter's glare didn't relent; not while his best friend was lying there, dying on the floor right in front of him, one slow, sick moment at a time. Not while he could still hear Cas laboring for breath. Not while his own broken bones and wrecked legs were screaming for relief.

Not while he knew Cole would kill them in the end, anyway.

So even if torture wasn't on the table… it certainly didn't make Cole a hero.

Not willing to speak up in case it brought more trouble down on Cas, Sam bit his tongue. Dean had received the message, and was no more than four hours away if he had said five or six. They would just have to hold on, wait for their chance, and be ready to take it.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean's cell phone rested on the passenger seat—Sam's seat—where it had been tossed. Though the clock on the dash read 2:00 AM, and though he'd been fighting vampires all day, the hunter was fully awake and on alert. The steering wheel creaked slightly under his too tight grip, his laser-intense glare focused on the road ahead.

This was his fault. This was _all_ his fault. He'd left Sam, gone off the grid, hadn't even considered that his baby brother might get into serious trouble. But he had, and Dean hadn't been there to help him. Dean, who had vowed from the age of four to never let his brother down, had done just that in the very worst possible way.

How could this have even happened? Dean didn't know how anything short of a monster had managed to get the drop on Sammy _and_ Cas.

He didn't know what Cas could possibly be sick with, or if perhaps Sam had just picked the closest code he could for some other situation they'd never needed to communicate before.

He didn't know how much it must have taken to subdue an angel, sick or not, and the best hunter around—or what condition Dean would find them in.

What he _did_ know, what this enemy would know soon, was that every single mark he found on either of them was going to be returned in full.

What he did know was that whatever trap he was walking into wouldn't be enough to stop him. And taking his brother and his best friend was the last mistake this man would ever make.


	6. Because I Heard You Call

Cole shifted in his vantage point on the roof of the building next to the pre-arranged meeting place. He resisted the temptation to check his watch… yet again. After all, Cole had waited this many years to finally have his vengeance. He could wait an hour more.

Squinting through the scope of his sniper rifle again, Cole shook off his distaste for the weapon. He'd always imagined this as a face to face fight, always dreamed he'd be able to tell Dean Winchester _why_ he was about to die at Cole's hands. He'd hoped to look in his enemy's eyes when he killed him, but sometimes plans changed.

Sure, this wasn't the most honorable way of killing a man. In war, though, honor was often a luxury he couldn't afford. Better to take Dean out as soon as he stepped out of his car. Or maybe he'd take a non-lethal shot, leaving Dean incapacitated but alive long enough for Cole to get down there, say his piece, and put another bullet right between Dean's eyes.

Any moment now.

…Where _was_ he?

Cole checked his watch again, frowning. He'd shown up half an hour early so that he'd be guaranteed to arrive first and get to his sniper hole. Two hours later, and no sign of Dean out here in the outskirts of town. The residence Cole had chosen hadn't been occupied in many years, but wasn't so wrecked as to arouse Dean's suspicion in time.

Now, though, with the appointed time well past, Cole was starting to get a warning tingle in the back of his mind. Something had gone wrong. Dean should have been there by now.

The soldier scanned the area again, grip on his rifle tightening. Nope… no one moving. No sign of Dean Winchester. No sign of anyone at all.

Cole's eyes narrowed as he took a calming breath. He couldn't lose himself to the rage now, but if his enemy _didn't_ show up… Well, he'd have to adjust his plan. Maybe having Sam act like nothing was wrong hadn't been the best move; perhaps Dean needed a sense of urgency.

Perhaps Cole should drive back, call Dean, and make him listen to his little brother screaming for mercy.

Right on cue, Cole felt Sam's phone start to vibrate in his pocket. Hmm. Maybe Dean had simply run into an obstacle, and was calling to let "Sam" know that he was going to be late.

Even as he dug the cell out and eyed the number—Bruce Wayne—Cole already knew in the back of his mind that this wasn't the case. Jaw clenching, eyes once again roaming the empty lot where Dean was supposed to have been two hours ago, Cole accepted the call and held the phone up to his ear.

"The next voice I hear had better be Sammy's," Dean Winchester growled in a low, lethal rumble. "Or else you're a dead man."

Cole was going to go back and drive that blade right through Sam's heart. The little shithead had warned Dean after all.

Switching to his _backup_ backup plan, Cole forced a calm demeanor to cover his fury and replied easily, "Dean-o. Guess it's about time you and I had a little chat."

"The only thing we're gonna chat about is how you'd better start running. This is your one chance. Walk away and don't look back, and never come after me, my brother, or Cas _ever_ again. Because I swear to god, you son of a bitch, when I catch up with you, I will make you wish you'd never been born."

Cole laughed sharply. "Well now, that's pretty big words, but you're forgetting one thing. If you ever want to see Sam or the guy with the funny glowing blood again, you're going to do exactly what I say."

Dean paused; when he spoke, Cole felt his skin prickle. "So you know about Cas."

"Sure do, sport."

"And you know what his blood looks like because…?"

Cole smiled, eyes narrowed with hatred for the man he was so casually chatting with. "How do you think? Gotta say, neither one of 'em is doing too hot. So you should probably shut up and listen. Got a pen?"

"No, you listen to me," Dean snarled. "There's no trade. There's no meet-up. I'm not meeting you anywhere and I'm not playing your games. Here's what I _am_ going to do. First, I'm going to get my family back. And then I'm going to kill you."

"Well, you can try," Cole suggested with a light shrug. "Gonna be hard to do when you don't know where they are."

Dean barked in laughter, the sound cold enough to chill the blood. "Why do you think I waited so long to call you? I know exactly where they are, I just needed to make sure you were delayed enough that you wouldn't make it back here in time."

"Right," Cole deadpanned. "You think you know, huh? Impressive. Seeing as I have both their phones and all. So, GPS is out."

"I don't need their phones or their GPS. You messed with the wrong brothers. Sam told me everything I need to know… Cole."

The soldier froze, hand clenched around his sniper rifle. He'd listened to every word Sam had said. _Nothing_ had been close to his name. If the Winchester could do that, was it possible that he _had_ managed to communicate a location?

Was it even possible that, after all his preparations, Dean might slip right through his fingers after all?

At a loss, unprepared for this unexpected turn, Cole merely clenched his jaw in wordless rage. On the other end of the line, Dean's voice dropped another twenty degrees as he snapped,

"Just remember, I gave you a chance to run. And that's a limited time offer."

"You-"

"Time's up."

The line cut off and Cole's temper exploded, the expletives ground out through gritted teeth. He jumped to his feet, caution to the wind, as he swept his gaze around the empty lot, just in case this was all some kind of trick. Nothing. No Dean Winchester. No revenge, no justice, no nothing.

He ran for the car, rifle held tightly in white-knuckled hands. The barn wasn't very far from here, ten minutes at most. He'd made sure that even if a rescue attempt was made, Sam would slow them down. Cole could still stop them.

He could still end Dean Winchester once and for all.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel hated being trapped like this on the floor. It was too vulnerable a position, curled on his side to relieve the pressure on his arms, unable to do much of anything to defend himself or Sam. How long had it been now? Six hours? Seven? The angel could barely feel his limbs anymore, though he couldn't say that wasn't a blessing of sorts.

Worse than that was the weakness he felt, the weariness that bored in deeper than his bones. Castiel felt it in his heart, in his mind, in the sputtering ball of stolen grace.

"Cas? Hey… you're still with me, right?"

Though Sam's voice was gentle, the angel could hear the quiet fear trembling beneath the words. It occurred to him that he hadn't moved in some time, and perhaps Sam wasn't sure if he was even still alive. Shifting, careful not to pull on the twine circling his neck, Cas raised his eyes to his friend.

"Of course," he murmured. Castiel winced at how rough his voice sounded even to his own ears. Clearing his throat, he added, "I'm here, Sam. How are… how are you doing?"

Sam chuckled softly and rolled his one good eye. "Never better."

Castiel couldn't help but smile at the famous Winchester grit. He shivered, thinking vaguely that it probably wasn't a good sign that he was getting so cold. From the way Sam frowned in sudden concern, it hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Dean will be here soon," the hunter pointed out. "And he knows you're sick. And he knows it's just the one guy, so… he'll take care of everything and then he'll be here, and we'll get you home."

If Castiel wasn't bound in the horrible position that he was, he would have shaken his head in amazement. "I still don't know how you managed to communicate all that," he said. "I had always hoped that maybe someday I would have the same skill, but now I suppose that's not…"

He trailed off, but Sam angrily spoke up.

"Don't talk like that, Cas. He'll be here. You're gonna be fine. You're gonna hold on for me, right?"

"Sam…"

"No, Cas! You know what, I can probably get loose, and then I can-"

"Sam." Castiel sighed, closing his eyes to shut out the heart-rending image of Sam's battered, grief-stricken face. "Listen to me. When you called… I was already dying. The chances of me surviving much longer-"

"I said _stop_. You listen to _me_ , Cas. You were in a crappy motel room, all alone. I doubt you were eating or getting _any_ sort of healing. We're gonna get you home, into a real bed, get some food in you and get your strength back, and then we're gonna figure out what to do about the grace. But that means you can't quit. Please, Cas… _please_ , keep fighting. I need you here, man."

Castiel opened his eyes again, offering his friend a weak smile. "Then I'm not going anywhere. Maybe when-"

The door of the barn slammed open, thrown open so violently that the old wood nearly splintered. Castiel's heart thudded in his chest as Cole stormed straight for Sam with murderous intent in his eyes.

"What did you do?" the soldier spat, grabbing a chunk of Sam's hair and yanking his head back. A pistol found its way to the hunter's chin and dug in. "You little shit, what did you _do_?!"

"Cole!" Castiel gasped, forcing his exhausted body to roll up, trying to climb to his feet so he could jump in if necessary. "Stop!"

"Looks like Dean was lying, he didn't come save you after all," Cole hissed. His eyes narrowed as Sam met his gaze with a calm coldness. The gun cocked.

"No!" Castiel cried, lurching awkwardly forward on his knees, but there was too much distance between him and Cole. The soldier slid the gun down to Sam's upper body and pulled the trigger.

Sam's eyes shot open, mouth gaping in wordless agony, as Cole released his grip and took a step back. Castiel shouted again, terrified eyes taking in the blood already seeping through the hunter's shirt. Not the heart, part of Castiel's rational mind realized quietly. Cole hadn't gone for the heart, but Sam was already so injured…

"So," Cole seethed through gritted teeth, dropping the gun and slamming a fist into the helpless hunter's cheek. "I guess…" Another ruthless punch, this time to the stomach. "...we'll just have to do this the _hard_ way."

This time, it was Cole's heavy boot adding to the beating, stomping down on Sam's injured foot with all the soldier's considerable strength. Sam's head tipped back, mouth still open; if he'd had any air left, he would have been screaming.

" _NO_!" Castiel thundered yet again, making it back to his feet at last. He had no idea how he was going to stop Cole, but the angel was fully prepared to try.

He never made it a single step. Outside, the roar of a car approaching grew louder and louder, all three of the barn's occupants turning their startled gaze towards the door. The car wasn't stopping.

Castiel heard Cole curse and stumble backwards only a fraction of a second before the wall of the barn exploded with the sound of splintered wood and crunching gravel. Debris spiraled in all directions as the Impala's nose poked through bits of lumber and what used to be a solid barrier. Through the dust, they heard a car door slam, followed by a figure of a man charging through. A gunshot echoed.

Cole dodged aside, forced away from Sam and his own gun that still lay at the younger Winchester's feet. Castiel stepped backwards, out of Dean's way to allow the hunter room to fight. His own eyes cast about desperately for his angel blade; if he could just get himself free, he could help.

To Cole's credit, the soldier didn't back down or try to run, not that he could have made it to the exit without going through Dean anyway. Instead, he charged forward, surprising the hunter and taking them both down to the ground. The gun landed with a hollow thud several feet away, though both Dean and Cole seemed too intent on grappling for the upper hand to notice.

"So," Cole snarled, throwing a punch that Dean easily deflected. "That bullshit about already knowing where Sam was…"

"Figured you'd be stupid enough to fall for it," Dean snapped in reply. "I was staking you out from the moment you rolled into that lot. You led me right back to them."

Cole snorted, shaking his head as he wrestled his way out from under the hunter and jumped to his feet. A glint of light flashed in the barn, dimly lit from the overcast morning sky as Cole's switchblade opened with a soft _shick._

"Not bad, Dean-o. You really had me going. So I guess Sam didn't tell you my name, either."

Both fighters were crouched, circling each other in slow, predatory movements. Dean didn't even go for his gun, fists clenching in preparation to take Cole out bare-handed.

"Nope. Ran your license plate." Dean paused long enough to meet Castiel's eyes, taking in the angel's predicament, before his gaze settled on Sam.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but Castiel would swear he saw blackness start to creep into Dean Winchester's eyes as he saw the horrifying myriad of wounds Cole had delivered to Sam.

"Yeah, take a good look," Cole snapped. "Because as soon as I kill _you_ , they're next."

"Oh, I don't think so."

The two charged, meeting with a clash of fists and steel. Castiel wasn't worried that Dean might lose; he only hoped that when Dean won, he was able to stop himself from going too far. Again, the angel cast around for his blade or any sharp object he could use to get himself free. Cole must not have brought his bag of torture instruments back in from his own vehicle.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, drawing the angel's attention.

Castiel turned back to the fight in time to see Dean dodge back and jerk a dagger out of his boot. With skill born of too many years of practice, he sent it flying blade over end through the air to imbed itself in the far wall of the barn.

"Get Sammy out of here!" the hunter snapped, before his focus returned to his enemy.

Castiel turned his back on the battle and hobbled towards the knife stuck in the wall, though he could still hear the sounds of the fight and Cole's furious tone as he snapped,

"Don't you even want to know _why_? June 21st, 2003-"

Cole's voice was cut off with a grunt and the sound of a heavy punch landing.

"Yeah, I remembered as soon as I saw your name," Dean seethed. "And you know what? I might have felt sorry for you. But then you went and took my _family_. Your father was a monster, and you're no better than him."

Castiel heard another blow landing as he finally reached the knife and turned his back to the wall to grope blindly for the weapon behind his head. Dean had his hands wrapped around Cole's wrists, both of them fighting for control of the switchblade. Finally, the hunter ripped the weapon away from Cole and swung, driving it deep into the soldier's arm. Cole bellowed with pain and stumbled away.

Frantically, Castiel managed to extract Dean's knife from the wall and slip it under one of the loops restraining him. It was awkward trying to saw the twine with such a limited range of motion; besides, the movement caused the twine wrapping his neck to tighten. Castiel choked, a harsh hacking sound erupting from his bruised throat. His eyes watered, but he continued the relentless sawing until the coarse rope finally snapped.

Gasping in relief, Castiel struggled to unwind himself from the restraints, still coughing and gagging. Though he could hear the fight in the background, the angel stumbled back to where Sam sat slumped in the chair. The hunter's head lolled forward, eyes mostly closed but flickering now and then in an attempt to stay conscious.

"Cas," Sam whispered, voice thick with agony. "Dean… Stop him…"

"I have to heal you first," the angel insisted, hoping it wasn't obvious that he was nearly seeing two of Sam and that the room was no longer holding still. Deep down, Castiel knew he couldn't put his friend fully back together. At best, he might be able to heal one wound, if he focused very hard.

The latest gunshot had torn through Sam's upper torso; Castiel couldn't tell if it had taken a lung or not but it was surely the most problematic injury. Reaching out a shaky hand, the angel set two fingers to Sam's forehead, feeling for the rent edges of flesh and tissue with his grace. Though his inner light tried to curl around the wound in healing and protection, every attempt kept weakly slipping away. Castiel's breath hitched; he couldn't do it. His grace was too faded, unable to sustain the healing long enough for it to take hold.

"C-Cas?"

The angel swallowed and closed his eyes. Sam's blood refused to stop spilling, and he could do nothing.

"Cas…"

Sam's voice was so weak, trickling to silence. Castiel's eyes shot open; his friend was nearly unconscious, and his life force was starting to wane. He needed medical treatment, immediately, or he was going to die.

And then Dean would be left with no one.

Twisting, Castiel saw with horror that Dean had gained the upper hand. Cole was on the floor of the barn on his back, dazedly staring up at Dean in between vicious blows to the face. Blood mottled the soldier's cheeks, mouth, and nose as punch after brutal punch split his skin and bruised his now defenseless form.

"Dean…" Castiel tried to call out, though his voice caught and broke. "Dean, stop!"

After everything Cole had done to Sam, who had done absolutely nothing to deserve such torture, Castiel could hardly bring himself to be overly concerned for the soldier's well-being. It was the look on Dean's face that frightened the angel… the black, open hatred and pure rage that shattered his righteous aura just as Cain's had done so long ago.

"Dean, _please_ ," Castiel begged, unable to bear the change in his human friend. They were losing him. If he didn't turn back from this road soon… he would become something that Castiel had no power to save. "Dean! I can't heal Sam. Help us!" _Please, Dean… help._

Something in Castiel's voice must have carried through the fog of berserk fury, overcoming even the influence of the Mark as Dean paused and glanced over his shoulder at the two. The darkness in his eyes flared briefly with greater wrath at the sight of Sam, and Castiel's gut clenched.

"Please," the angel whispered. He shook his head. "Dean, don't do this… he needs you. You won, just end it."

Dean wavered, expression shifting to anxiety, and for a second Castiel almost breathed with relief… until the hatred returned. The Mark on his arm glowed with the thirst for blood, a thirst that had no place in a man as good as Dean. Castiel felt something crumble inside.

"No, Dean. You- you can't give in. Think about Sam. He's going to die, please- please come back." Or else it had all been for nothing. _Everything_. "Dean, help us."

Dean's chest heaved with sharp, angry breaths, the glare on his face belonging to a stranger. Slowly, recognition returned, and finally the rage faded into worry. The cloud passed, and then Castiel was looking at the Dean Winchester he knew once again.

"Sammy," Dean murmured, before jumping to his feet.

Cole didn't move, staring up at the barn ceiling, breath rattling wetly through bloodied lips. He could do no more than raise a weak hand as the hunter scooped up his fallen gun and returned to stand over the soldier.

Though the darkness was gone from Dean's eyes, it was not replaced by mercy.

"No one touches my family," the hunter seethed. No more words; he pulled the trigger.

Cole's body jolted and his eyes fell closed, allowing a short silence to fall over the barn once again. It was broken by the haggard breath that Sam tried to draw, followed by one whispered word:

"Dean…"

The hunter shoved his gun back into his waistband, turning his back on his enemy and rushing to Sam's side. Castiel stepped back, holding the knife out for Dean to slice through his brother's bonds. Sam tilted forwards, caught only by Dean's waiting hands, though it jostled Sam's battered body and made him cry out in tight pain.

Dean cursed. "Cas, can you…?"

Castiel swallowed. "I…"

"Cas!"

Taking a deep breath, Castiel evaluated Sam once again. "I can't heal him all the way," he admitted. "But…" The angel felt for his grace—Theo's grace—and his heart sank. The little that remained was burning him out, mostly unusable. Soon, it would consume him completely. But if it was the last thing he ever did, Castiel would expend this one final piece in the service of his friends.

Taking stock of Sam's injuries—broken ribs, shattered knee, the bullet to his chest, his thigh, his foot, the bruises dotting his face—Castiel finally settled on Sam's kneecap that Cole had broken with the hammer. It would take weeks, even months to naturally heal enough for Sam to walk or hunt, if indeed it wasn't mangled beyond repair.

Gently, carefully, Castiel laid his palm across the splintered patella. He called on his last stores of healing light, leaving none for himself. Sam hissed in discomfort as the pieces of his knee began to knit themselves back together, the shards pulling in from the surrounding muscle and fusing with ligament and cartilage.

When Castiel was finished, he collapsed to his hands and knees. He turned aside just in time for his body to rebel, vomiting up bile and blood that left him once again choking for air. Distant voices were shouting his name as Castiel's vision began to fade at the edges.

"Dean," he murmured over them. "Take Sam… and go… Hurry."

"No!" his friend yelled, closer to his ear now. "We're not leaving you!"

"I'll only slow you down…"

"Cas!" Sam snapped, also close. "Who do you think you're talking to? I'm not leaving you behind."

" _No one_ is leaving you behind. I'm getting you both out of here, Cas."

The angel almost smiled. He was falling; hands were catching him, lowering him gently to the floor. Then there was nothing.


	7. I'll Shield You in the Darkness

Dean's blood was still racing too hot, too fast, but it was a mere aftertaste of the uncontrollable firestorm raging in his heart when the Mark had taken control. The hunter didn't dare even look in Cole's direction, lest he be consumed again by the desire, the _need_ for violence even though the man was already dead.

Instead, he forced himself to focus his entire attention on the two people dearest to his heart, both too close to Heaven's door. Dean let Cas's weight slide fully onto the floor, away from the puddle of sick, and took quick stock of the situation.

"Okay," he breathed, running shaky hands through his hair. "Okay…" Oh god, how was he going to get them both out of there and take care of them on his own? Even with whatever Cas had done, Sam was obviously too injured to walk or even stand, and the angel was out like a light.

"Is he…?" Sam whispered, voice breaking.

Dean shook his head. "Pulse is thready," he answered as he checked again for his own reassurance. "But it's there. What the _hell_ did that bastard do to him? To _you_? No," the hunter immediately changed his mind. He swallowed. The memory of that rage… god, he was terrified. He couldn't go there again. "Don't tell me until I'm under control."

Not that Sam seemed capable of telling the story at the moment anyway. When Dean turned back to his baby brother, Sammy's head was drooping and he nearly pitched right out of the seat. Dean cursed and steadied his brother, easing him back in the chair.

"Okay," he said again. Dean shook off his panic, knowing he needed a clear head. Shrugging out of his flannel, Dean pressed it against the wound on Sam's chest and tried to ignore the pitched cry of agony from his brother. "Keep pressure on that. I'm gonna back the car out so you have room to get in. Hang on, okay?"

Sam nodded as Dean hurried back to the Impala. He only vaguely registered the dents and scratches caused by crashing in as he had, but she had suffered worse than this for the Winchesters. Dean shifted wood aside and slid in behind the wheel, pulling her back out to the firm ground outside where he wouldn't have to worry about her weight crashing through the floorboards.

Jumping back out and hurrying inside, Dean looked between Sam and Cas before heading for his little brother first. Cas was already unconscious; if Sam passed out, Dean wanted to make sure it was while he was already strapped in to the Impala's front seat.

"Here we go, ready, buddy?" he asked, before pausing in dismay. Dean cursed. The bastard had made sure Sam couldn't walk… even with his knee healed, Dean didn't see how his brother would be able to put weight on either leg. And from the way Sam was guarding his ribcage, there were probably broken bones to worry about in addition to the bullet hole that was already seeping blood through the flannel.

Just the act of supporting Sam's weight or trying to carry him might jostle a broken rib the wrong way and take out a lung… assuming the bullet hadn't done that already. Dean had a nasty suspicion it had, and he had no way of treating that on his own.

"Just hang on. I'm gonna get you to a hospital. Umm… okay, let's get the jacket off. We're gonna have to use it like a litter."

Sam nodded, and though he didn't make a sound, Dean could tell it was taking everything his brother had not to cry out in pain. Working quickly, Dean tied the arms of the flannel shirt around Sam's back to help keep the pressure on the wound, then dropped the coat to the floor and helped guide his brother down on top of it.

"On three, okay?" he said, gripping the material in white-knuckled fists. "One… two… three!" Dean pulled with all his might, straining to drag Sam across the barn floor. Sam was obviously trying to help, but by the time they were only halfway out, there were already tears in the staunch hunter's eyes from the pain. "Almost there, come on… Geez, Sammy, you gotta lose a couple pounds…"

"One to… talk…"

When they finally reached the Impala, Dean was already starting to feel the exhaustion, but he opened the passenger door and struggled to maneuver Sam into it. Buckling his brother in, not even thinking about the blood he was getting on the upholstery, Dean cast a worried eye at Sammy's pale, drawn face. They needed to hurry.

"I gotta go back for Cas, okay? Hold on."

Sam didn't answer, more than for his head to tilt to the side as his eyes fell closed. Dean tossed his brother's jacket into the backseat then hurried back into the barn, still avoiding the sight of Cole's motionless form on the floor, as he knelt down by the fallen angel.

"Cas," he murmured, giving his friend a careful shake. The angel didn't stir. With a frown, Dean rolled him onto his back and pushed the trench coat aside, checking to see what injuries he might have sustained. Though Cole had indicated he'd made Cas bleed, Dean couldn't find any cuts or stab wounds. In fact, the only marks he found were the angry red lines around Cas's throat from where the son of a bitch had bound him with the harsh twine, and the same around his wrists.

Dean wondered again what exactly Cas could be sick with, to be in such horrible condition without any wounds, but for now the important thing was that he could safely move the angel without worrying about aggravating any injuries.

Sliding one of Cas's arms around Dean's shoulder, the hunter grunted with exertion as he hauled the angel's dead weight up and hoisted him into a fireman's carry. Maybe after so many years of taking care of Sam, _everyone_ else seemed lighter in comparison, but Dean couldn't help but wince at just how fragile Cas—a freakin' _angel_ —seemed as the hunter carried him out to the car.

Cas never stirred as Dean opened the back door of the Impala and eased the angel down onto the bench seat.

Without a backwards glance, the hunter raced for the driver's seat and mashed the gas pedal. The Impala rumbled then sped down the road as smoothly as possible so as not to jar two of her most beloved passengers.

Dean's mind raced as he focused on getting to help as soon as possible, alternately glancing over to make sure Sam was still breathing and watching the rearview to keep an eye on Cas. The Bunker was at least two hours away; too far for him to take Sam.

In the passenger seat, Sammy shifted, eliciting another shaky moan that made Dean's skin crawl because his brother should not sound so weak.

"You with me, Sammy?"

Sam grunted slightly in assent as his eyes blinked open. "Cas…?"

"In the back." Dean paused, licking dry lips. "I saw a sign for a hospital coming into town. Hang in there a few more minutes."

"What about Cas?" Sam stubbornly murmured. "Can't… can't take him to a hospital. You know that."

Yeah, but he'd been trying not to think it. "What else am I supposed to do? You're too hurt. I can't take care of it on my own, and Cas can't heal you."

"So take me to a hospital. But Dean… you gotta get Cas home."

"And leave you here?" Dean demanded as his hands clutched the wheel harder. "Forget it."

"You know it's the only option," his brother murmured. He seemed to rally some strength, sitting up a bit and pressing a hand to the makeshift flannel bandage. "Feels like… he hit a lung. I- I think it's deflated."

"Ya think?" Dean snapped back, before wincing at his own harshness. He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "Yeah. They're gonna have to get the bullet out…"

"And that means surgery," Sam finished, leaning his head against the window and taking shallow, raspy breaths. "Which means anesthesia. Which means… I won't even be awake. They'll take care of me. Please… use that time. Get Cas to the Bunker. He- he needs food, rest. Clean sheets. He needs _us_ , Dean. You don't understand…"

His voice started to fade, making Dean glance over at him.

"I'm gonna get him to a motel," he assured his brother. "That way I can keep a closer eye on both of-"

"No." Sammy semi-straightened again with a wince and a ragged breath. "No, Dean. He needs to be _home_."

"Hey, I don't exactly like the idea of leaving him somewhere either, but it's not like I'm just gonna-"

"Cas is dying."

Dean felt the air leave his chest as his heart stopped pumping. His gaze automatically jerked to the rearview, as though afraid by the time he looked, Cas would already be gone. The angel was still lying there in the back seat, pale but still present. Swallowing, Dean shook his head.

"I gave him a quick once over. Didn't see any wounds. What did that bastard do to him?"

"Wasn't Cole," Sam grunted. "The grace… burning out-" He cut off with a wrenched cry of pain as they went over a bump in the road.

Dean swore, trying to slow down just a little, but even more anxious now for both his brothers. His previously stilled heart was now thudding with painful intensity even as denial made him shake his head again. Cas wasn't dying. He would be fine, because he was _always_ fine, because he was a Winchester and they had a track record for beating what couldn't be beat.

Dean clenched his fists around the steering wheel again, teeth gritting as he watched the trees flash by, drawing closer to town where the hospital was. Choosing between himself or his brother was easy. Choosing between one family member or another, however… Dean was furious to have been put in this position, to leave Sammy on his own at a hospital, horribly wounded, or to leave Cas fading away alone with the promise that they'd come get him—eventually.

The hunter couldn't do either. Especially if…

"Dean," Sam gritted out, probably seeing the battle on his face. "We can still save Cas, but not at some crap-hole motel. Take care of him, then come back for me. If you don't, I'll tell them to throw you out. I'm not kidding. I'll be fine… you and I both know I've had worse than this."

"And how is that supposed to make me feel better?" Dean demanded, though he checked the rearview again to see their angel still unconscious in the back seat. All the times Cas had protected them… and Dean knew without needing to be told that the angel had done everything he could to protect Sam from Cole. It was just what Cas _did,_ what he'd always done.

It was time for them to return the favor.

So, when they finally reached the La Crosse hospital, Dean pulled into the Emergency Room entrance pavilion and shouted for help out the open window. Turning back to Sam, gripping his brother's hand carefully, Dean promised,

"I'm gonna get Cas home and settled, and I'll be back this evening. Maybe tomorrow we can bust you out, alright?"

Sam nodded weakly but managed to offer Dean a wan smile. Several EMTs and orderlies were already rushing towards the Impala with a stretcher between them; jumping out of the car to explain the little he knew of Sam's injuries, Dean watched them take his brother inside. Under the pretense of parking, even though it killed him to do it, the hunter drove off as fast as he could with the Impala's nose pointed towards home.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel felt the surface of whatever he was lying on vibrating gently, almost soothingly. The smooth material beneath him wasn't completely flat, but curved a bit to conform to his weary body. It served as almost a cocoon, protecting and supporting. Occasionally, he was jostled by a bump, but for the most part this was absorbed into whatever was holding him so that the pain wasn't too severe.

It was too much work to open his eyes, but Castiel smelled leather and a faint dustiness; added to the lullaby rumble, he knew it was Dean's car. And that meant safety.

Castiel allowed the blackness to claim him once again in the solace of this shelter.

The next time he returned to semi-awareness, the rumbling was slowing to a halt. A soft squeal of brakes and the following silence told him the Impala had stopped, but this was as much as his mind could piece together at the moment. He was in and out of consciousness, but his first instinct when hands pulled him out of the seat was to try to shift away.

"Hey… hey, it's okay," a gruff voice murmured. "It's just me, Cas, you're safe."

"Dean."

Castiel had to make sure Dean didn't go too far, didn't cross the line that would separate him from the angel forever. But his eyelids were too heavy.

"Yeah. I gotcha, man."

He slid out of consciousness yet again, but the next thing he knew, a heavy door was creaking shut in the distance and he seemed to be moving. It took the angel a moment to realize he was draped over something sturdy that was carrying him down a flight of stairs. Dean, again. Vaguely, Castiel thought he should be embarrassed that he would need to be carried like an invalid, though the hunter's thoughts whispering into Castiel's mind were filled with worry and pleas to hold on.

Dean hadn't prayed in a long time, Castiel thought. He marveled at the fact that the hunter would do so now, and that Castiel could even still hear them.

Wanting to reassure his friend, he opened his eyes to see a blurry image of Dean's boots and the floor sliding by. He tried to tell the hunter that he was alright, but all he managed to get out was a slurred "Okay…"

Then he was out.

There was no way of knowing how much time had passed before Castiel woke up again, but by the time he did, his memories of the recent past had dimmed enough that he wasn't sure where he was. He remembered Cole, and how callously he'd tortured Sam, and then Dean bursting in quite literally.

Castiel's breath hitched as he opened his eyes and swiftly took in his surroundings; a bedroom, a soft blanket, and Dean sitting beside him with a magazine.

The hunter looked up, crossed feet jerking off the bed Castiel was lying on. "Cas?"

Dean had been beating Cole so ferociously, which was little more than what the soldier deserved, but the Mark… Dean's eyes… the violent rage choking the very air around them, emanating from Dean himself…

"Dean," Castiel whispered, eyes locked on his friend. "Are you… _you_? You're not… you didn't…?"

Biting his lip, Dean looked away for a second before glancing back at the angel. "I'm fine," he replied, gruff and oddly vulnerable. "And yeah, I'm still me."

Offering a silent prayer of gratitude to whoever might still be out there listening, Castiel let his body relax again into the soft pillow. He looked around again, realizing that this didn't seem like one of their usual motels. Then he remembered the careful arms carrying him down the stairs of the Bunker.

"Yeah, you're home," Dean assured him, seeming to realize the angel was still a little disoriented.

The word made Castiel's throat tighten. He was too tired to be embarrassed when his eyes flooded with moisture as he caught Dean's gaze. He didn't know quite how to respond, but the next memory to return drove out all other thoughts anyway.

"Sam!" Castiel gasped, jolting upright in the bed. The movement proved too much and his breath caught in his throat. Castiel coughed, and then he couldn't stop coughing. His body jerked repeatedly with the violence of it, hacking and wheezing in between until he felt something wet on the back of his hand.

The angel looked down: blood. Damn it, it was this exact thing he'd been trying to protect Sam and Dean from seeing, the very reason he'd gone off to die alone. There was no hiding it now. As the wracking wet coughs subsided, Castiel avoided Dean's eyes.

For a second, neither said anything. Then, Dean shifted closer to Castiel, holding out a handkerchief that he used to carefully wipe the blood off of the angel's hand.

"Sam's at the hospital in La Crosse," Dean said simply. "They're gonna patch him up. I'll head over there in a while to check on him."

Castiel closed his eyes against a spasm of pain—not in his body, but in his heart. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I… I wish I could have done more-"

"Cas, no."

The angel couldn't bear the anguish he heard, competing with his own devastation that he hadn't done a better job protecting his charges. Every choice he'd made that had led him here, powerless and dying, had been no one's fault but his own. And now Sam and Dean were paying the price.

"You did more than enough," Dean finished, voice rougher than usual. "I'm the one who- look, Sam's gonna be just fine, but meanwhile, you need to rest. I'm gonna go heat up some soup, and you're gonna eat it."

"But-"

"No, no buts. Don't give me that crap about how angels don't need to eat. You look like hell, man. So humor me. Eat some soup and then take a nap."

Castiel couldn't pretend that didn't sound as good as it did. Wanting to make Dean feel better, the angel nodded and closed his eyes. He heard his friend stand up and walk from the room, and only then did Castiel grit his teeth and allow himself to respond to the aching deep in his bones. The stolen grace crackled, the spurts becoming more intense.

Maybe when Dean left to see Sam, the angel could sneak back out, he thought dazedly. As nice as Dean was being, it didn't change the simple fact: all the soup and rest in the world wasn't going to be enough to save Castiel now.

SPN SPN SPN

On the floor of the barn, Cole's eyes flew open and he inhaled with a sharp, pained gasp. Shit, he hurt all over… he could barely breathe, feeling like he'd been punched in the gut. By a bullet. At close range. Lying as still as he could, the soldier stared up at the wood ceiling.

Fury and humiliation coiled in his stomach, working their way up like bile. He'd lost, and lost badly. All that time preparing, and Dean had swatted him down like he was nothing. Cole's face turned dark and deadly.

With a groan, he raised a hand to his chest and unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers. The Kevlar vest close to his skin had saved his life; good thing Dean had stupidly targeted him at center mass instead of going for a head shot.

That would be Dean Winchester's last mistake.

No blood; just one hell of a bruise, he was sure, though the pain was equally matched by the throbbing in his face.

"Damn it," Cole growled under his breath, touching his cheek with a ginger prod. He gasped when fire flashed through his face. A broken nose, probably his cheekbone as well. He'd have two black eyes, undoubtedly.

Not that it could hope to compare with the agony of knowing he'd lost and Dean was still out there somewhere.

But not for long. Dragging himself up painfully, Cole forced himself to his feet and stumbled towards the door. A wave of dizziness left him leaning against the splintered wood with his eyes closed. The sensation passed, and the soldier took a deep breath.

Fortunately, Cole hadn't survived so long in the darkest places on earth by being unprepared. He never did anything without a contingency plan. He'd taken the necessary steps in case of this very possibility, from the very second he'd knocked Sam out in the middle of the road.

Stumbling out to his waiting car, Cole pried the door open and painfully slid behind the wheel. One glance at his reflection in the rearview mirror confirmed what he'd thought about the current state of his face—he was a bloody mess, barely able to see through his left eye that was swollen shut and dripping blood.

Didn't matter. If it was the last thing he did, Cole was going to end Dean, and his brother, and the monster, once and for all.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, guys, you had to know it wasn't really gonna be that easy... ;)


	8. Be There to Break Your Fall

Dean stirred the soup, watching minuscule bubbles starting to trickle to the surface as the meal heated on the stove. He hated leaving Sam at the hospital; the blood-stained jacket hanging on the nearby chair only served as a reminder that his baby brother wasn't there with him. He'd have to clean the thing, but for the moment he still needed to take care of Cas.

No matter how many times he ran through it all in his mind, Dean could not escape the obvious conclusion: this was all his fault.

Only the knowledge that Cas was right down the hall and needed him to keep it together prevented Dean from breaking down just a little. He, and that stupid Mark on his arm, had done this to Cas and Sam.

Dean exhaled, long and slow, and grabbed a bowl from the nearby cupboard. Then, on second thought, he grabbed a large mug instead. He wasn't sure how well Cas would be able to handle a bowl and spoon in the shape he was in, but he did know that the angel-of-the-Lord would not appreciate needing to be spoon-fed.

And that was another thing… what the hell had happened to Cas? Sam had seemed pretty sure it wasn't anything Cole had done—though Dean still wanted that story, just so he knew what specifics to worry about. If it wasn't that bastard, though, how was Cas as weak as he was?

For that matter, Dean suddenly realized with a throb of guilt, when had Cas showed up in the first place? They hadn't heard from the angel since that whole thing with Metatron… the battle that had nearly cost Dean his life or worse. Why had Dean not tried harder to make sure Cas stayed in contact?

Oh, right, because he'd been too busy avoiding everyone else himself, because he was a coward who'd run out on his brothers so they wouldn't have to see what he was becoming. How long had Cas been in trouble, and why hadn't he called on Dean if he needed help? Was it because he could see what the Mark was doing to him, and he'd thought Dean wouldn't care enough to help him? Had Cas assumed that Sam would be too wrapped up in Dean's problem, so hadn't even bothered coming to them?

And if that was the case, well, Dean couldn't even blame him. Which was precisely why the guilt was crushing the hunter now, because any doubts that Cas had in him were completely justified.

Sighing, Dean turned off the stove and poured the heated soup from the pot into the large mug. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, the hunter then made his way down the hallway towards the dormitory wing. He was nearly there when a crash from Cas's room urged his legs into a panicked sprint.

"Cas?" he shouted, shoving his way into the angel's room and then pausing as he caught sight of his best friend sprawled on the floor with a look of embarrassment and chagrin. "Cas! What the hell?"

"Oh, you're… you're still here. I, um…"

Dean hastily put the soup and water on the bedside table and rushed to give his friend a hand. Cas wasn't meeting his eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly as the hunter grabbed his elbow and helped him stand.

"Of course I'm still here, I told you I was just gonna heat up some soup. What happened?" Dean demanded as he guided Cas back down onto the bed. "What were you-" He broke off, looking at the open door, then back to the angel as his heart sank. "Were you… running away?"

Oh god, did he think Dean was going to snap and try to hurt him? After all, the Mark had driven Cain to do terrible things… And Cas had just seen for himself the violent fit of rage Dean was becoming increasingly prone to…

"I, um… must have passed out for a moment… lost time… thought you'd gone back for Sam," Cas muttered evasively. His hand clenched and unclenched in the blanket, then he sighed.

Dean wasn't sure what to say, but if Cas was going to be a flight risk, he needed to know that _now_ … before he left to see Sammy, only to return to an empty bunker. Running a hand through his hair, the hunter turned away and said,

"Cas, I- look, man, I'm under control now. I'm not gonna hurt you. Back there, with Cole, I know I kinda went off the rails a bit, but he'd _tortured_ you and Sam. Even without the Mark, I still would have-"

"Dean, what are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, Cas." Dean turned back to the angel at last, needing his friend to see how truly and achingly guilty he knew himself to be. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry I didn't try harder to find you before, and… for taking this damn Mark to begin with, and for whatever it's turning me into. Hell, even without the Mark, I've done enough crap that I know you probably don't trust me, so-"

"Dean." Cas coughed again, though it was only a few sharp bursts instead of an entire fit. He cleared his throat and shook his head, scrutinizing the hunter with that same damn piercing stare he'd always had. "I'm not sure why you're apologizing, but I gather you feel guilty about something. I'm not angry with you, my friend. You have nothing to be sorry for."

Dean snorted. "That why you were recreating your own version of the Great Escape just now?"

Again, Cas looked down in chagrin. "I… I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't intend for you to believe that was a sign of mistrust in you. It's just…"

The hunter waited, but Cas didn't seem intent on finishing. Frowning, he stepped closer. "Just what?"

It took a moment for Cas to look up at him, and when he did, Dean could see the utter weariness in his eyes.

"I'm dying," the angel murmured. "I'm sorry. I just… don't want you to have to see it."

Dean's heart dropped to his stomach, lungs tightening against an iron band. Sammy had told him as much, but the hunter had been holding onto denial; Sam had been in pain, possibly delirious. But from Cas's own mouth…

"Look," he said, trying to stay calm. "Whatever it is, whatever happened, we'll fix it. We'll _fix it_ , Cas."

"It's not something-" Another heavy cough, sounding wet and curdled like rotting cream. "-something you can fix."

"It's _always_ something we can fix!"

"It's the grace, Dean," Cas said with a haunted glimmer in his eyes. "I took an angel's life and stole his grace. An angel is _dead_ , and-"

"He was torturing you! He would have killed you!" Dean snapped, blood heating again.

"And now he will anyway. This grace is going to burn out, Dean, and it's going to take me with it. I would rather you and Sam not be close by when it does, as I have no idea how violent the resulting explosion-"

"Okay, _stop_." Dean wasn't going to listen to this. He'd come too close to losing his brothers already, and he wasn't about to end up without Cas anyway. Not after _everything_ they had been through. Scowling and shaking his head, the hunter insisted, "It's not gonna come to that. Look, at least we know _what_ the problem is. Me and Sam will think of something. But you gotta promise me you'll give us time, okay, Cas? You don't get to just clock out on us. Not if you haven't even given us a chance to figure something out."

The angel sighed, not agreeing but at least not arguing either. Dean couldn't be sure whether he was actually getting through to his friend or not. Grabbing the mug from the table, he pressed it insistently into Cas's hands.

"Here, drink this," he pleaded. "While it's still warm."

"It's not going to do any-"

"Damn it, Cas, will you just let me take care of you? Huh?"

Damn stubborn angel. Dean glared at Cas, arms crossed, until the angel finally sighed and raised the mug to his lips and took a slow sip. Despite the previous protests, Dean heard the softest noise of satisfaction at the hot soup, and Cas didn't lower the mug until he'd drank nearly a quarter of the contents.

"There, was that so hard?" the hunter groused. His expression softened, though, as his eyes shifted to the angry red lines encircling his friend's throat. They hadn't faded much, if they'd faded at all. "Do those still hurt? We should have some ointment around here somewhere…"

Cas glanced at his wrists, twisting them almost introspectively, before shaking his head. "No. I'm just… tired."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Well… drink the rest of that, then get some sleep, okay?" He paused, then added in a lower voice, "Cas, promise me you'll give me a chance. We'll find something. But… if you run off… Cas, I can't-"

He broke off, not sure what he could even say to fully elucidate just how devastated he would be if Cas ran away to die alone, like some stray cat that no one wanted. The thought of Cas hunched up in some dirty motel or back alley, all by himself as his life burned away, was an image of Dean's nightmares.

Perhaps his pain showed on his face, and maybe that was what did it, because Cas was watching him now with sadness and comfort and guilt as he finally nodded.

"Okay, Dean… I promise."

"Thank you."

"But," the angel interjected, "if I tell you and Sam to run, if I feel like the stolen grace will burn out… explosively… I need your word that you will do so immediately, without question or argument. Promise me that, and I'll promise you that I will stay."

Eagerly, but not so eagerly as to arouse suspicion, Dean nodded. "Okay." _Not a chance in hell._

But it made Cas relax enough to lean back against the headboard of the bed and drain the rest of the soup from his mug, even letting the veggies and bits of meat slide down his throat with the broth. Another soft sound of relief escaped the angel, the soup clearly more refreshing than he'd wanted to admit. Dean took the mug and set it aside, handing Cas the water next.

"I gotta ask," the hunter finally muttered, already hesitant for the answer. "What happened, man? I know you probably don't wanna think about it-" Nor did Dean himself. "-but I need to know what we're looking at. How did that guy find you? Did he hurt you? What… what exactly did he do to Sam?"

A spasm of pain crossed the angel's face. Dean already knew from Sam's injuries that it must have been horrific for his brother, but what must it have done to Cas to be forced to watch and be powerless to help? And what other wounds had been inflicted on either of them that they couldn't see?

After a sigh, Cas closed his eyes. "Sam was coming to find me," he started hoarsely. "He stayed on the phone with me the entire drive. I- I heard it happen when Cole took him." And bit by halting bit, Cas went on, filling Dean in on every detail that had led to Cole's final demise.

SPN SPN SPN

Sam wanted to stay in the blissful reaches of unconsciousness, somehow knowing in the back of his mind that the waking world would bring an onslaught of pain. But he also had a vague recollection that someone needed him. Which meant he couldn't sleep forever.

"Sammy?"

That voice was the only catalyst he needed. Sam pried his eyelids open, blinking dazedly against the bright light surrounding him. His brother's face swam into clearer focus. As soon as Sam's mind was able to process that Dean was sitting next to him, everything else began to fall into place as well.

"Hey," Dean murmured, relief smoothing out his face and voice. "How you feeling?"

Sam groaned and tried to reach a hand up to rub his head, though he paused when he felt various tubes and lines pulling at the motion. "Like I went a couple rounds with a semi," he grumbled. The hunter shifted as though to sit up. Immediately, a furious throbbing in his chest had him rethinking the maneuver.

"Just hold still for a while," Dean insisted, already starting up his mother hen routine that Sam knew he would later deny having.

Not that Sam would complain; it was comforting, so familiar and so _Dean._

In this case, he didn't have much choice but to do exactly that. Sam glanced down at himself, seeing the edge of a sterile white bandage peeking out from beneath the hospital gown. Breathing felt a little easier—his lung must have been re-inflated and functioning properly again—but his entire body felt like he'd been trampled. Those broken ribs would take a while to heal.

Not to mention the other two gunshot wounds, Sam thought ruefully. Even with those patched up, he'd have to stay off his feet for a bit. He was just grateful that Cas had put his knee back together, the one injury he'd feared from the start might permanently ruin his ability to hunt.

Or walk.

Which reminded him… "Cas?" Sam asked, watching his brother's face for any trace of hiding bad news. His pulse quickened, given away by the monitor beeping close by. Dean glanced at the monitor as well, before replying,

"He's home. And resting. I got some soup in him, so… that's something." Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, then leaned back in the hospital chair he was sitting in. "He told me what happened. Sam…"

He trailed off and looked away. Sam frowned, knowing his brother well enough to pick up what was going on underneath the surface.

"Dean, you know Cole coming after us, that's not on you. You know that, right? Hell, we _know_ how screwed up someone can be after losing family like that."

"No, I know that," Dean retorted. "Doesn't change what he did. Doesn't change _why_ he did it. I'm not sorry I put the bastard down—him _or_ his dad—but if I'd just been home… If I'd even bothered to check in on you… or Cas, I mean, I-"

He broke off, enough waver in his voice to lay his emotions bare for even Sam's groggy mind to see. Sam took a deep breath. Before getting captured, he'd been fully prepared to lay into Dean for going off on his own, but even he had assumed the danger would be to _Dean,_ not to himself. Certainly not for Cas. Now, seeing the guilt-ridden shine in his brother's eyes, Sam didn't have the heart or the inclination to berate him.

"Don't," he said simply. "Dean, what's done is done. Yeah, you shouldn't have run off. But you didn't know what would happen. I mean, I'm the idiot who didn't even realize I was being followed, left the car out in the open for him to put the kill switch in. Let him get close enough to knock me out."

"Yeah, 'cause you were worrying about Cas," Dean pointed out. "I'm glad that… you know, at least _one_ of us was a good enough friend to go get him. If you hadn't called, if he was still out there…"

"I know. I don't want to think about it, either."

Dean nodded but was still avoiding Sam's eyes.

"You're here, Dean," Sam murmured, trying to reach for his brother but only managing to move his hand a few inches. "That's what matters. When Cole tried to call you and you didn't answer, I- I thought…"

"I know. Sammy, I'm sorry," Dean sighed. "I shouldn't have run out on you, and then not even being in communication? Dad would tear me a new one if he knew. It was the stupidest thing I've ever done."

"And you've done a lot of stupid things," Sam immediately reminded him, cracking a small smile for the first time in weeks. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still kinda worried you're just gonna go taking off again-"

"I'm not," Dean interrupted with a glare. "I'm not going anywhere. Besides… whatever's going on with me, we've got a more important problem."

Sam's expression fell, shoulders slumping. "Yeah. Cas. We'll have to take care of that Mark eventually, but… it does seem like he's got a shorter timeline." Even in his own mouth, the glib words tasted foul. A shorter timeline… they were losing Cas faster than they were losing Dean, and he was already losing Dean way too fast.

And here he was, laid up in a damn hospital bed, not contributing to finding an answer. Taking a breath, Sam tried to sit up again. If he could just get up, get moving, he could escape back to the Bunker and start researching... The movement made his stitches pull, though, a throb in his chest making him groan.

"Whoa, whoa!" Dean snapped, a hand on Sam's shoulder to urge him back down. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Where's my clothes?" Sam asked with a stubborn scowl. "I need to get dressed."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sammy, don't be an idiot. You can barely move. They had to put your lungs back together, you get that? Let them heal for one damn day so I don't have to worry about you breaking something on the ride home. You're gonna have to stay here the night." His expression softened though, and he finished with, "Sorry, Sam."

Sam released a frustrated huff and brushed his hair from his face as he snapped, "And who's gonna start all the research? You're gonna go through the Men of Letters' library all by yourself?"

"Don't be a bitch." Dean leaned over, grabbing the backpack he'd brought in with him. He unzipped the main compartment and pulled out Sam's laptop, which he handed over with a rather smug look. "I brought you a present. See, sometimes I do things that _aren't_ stupid."

Eyeing his brother, Sam nevertheless took the offered computer with a lighter heart. At least this way he could be trying to help Cas.

"Thanks," he muttered grudgingly. "You know… I really didn't want to bring this up, but we need to start resigning ourselves to the possibility-"

"Possibility of _what_?" Dean interrupted, jerking back from Sam. His eyes flashed with lightning, a thunderous glare focused on the younger hunter as he snapped, "We're not resigning ourselves to Cas _dying_!"

Sam lurched up again, pulling on an IV line running into his arm so hard that it nearly came out, as he stared at his brother in stupefaction. "What- dying? That's not what I was going to say! You think I'd ever give up on him that easy? _Me_?"

Dean seemed mollified, leaning forward again and holding up his hand. "Okay, sorry," he said, eyes flicking to the monitor that was beeping fast enough that it would trigger a nurse to come running in soon. "Sorry, Sammy. What were you going to say?"

"I was trying to say, we need to think about options," Sam snapped. "It's the grace that's killing him, right? He said it was burning him out. Like, poisoning him, using him up basically."

"He mentioned."

"Well… I know he's not gonna like it, but… if that's what's causing the problem, we might need to take it out."

Dean didn't respond. His mouth twisted, eyes looking anywhere but at Sam. The younger hunter understood. The very idea made his own gut clench, sickened at the thought of doing to their best friend what _Metatron_ had done to him. Taking away his grace… even if they didn't carve it out as barbarically as the scribe had, Cas would be devastated.

"There's gotta be another way," Dean muttered now, gruff and still not looking at Sam. His voice echoed with hopelessness, though.

Sam wanted to believe, too.

"That's why I want to start researching," he pointed out. "It's a last resort, I know, but… like I said… we might need to start thinking about it."

Sam winced as he realized this would mean Dean was left with the duty of broaching the subject with Cas. That wasn't going to be a fun conversation, and his brother wasn't exactly known for his tact in handling sensitive situations.

…maybe they should wait until Sam got home…

Dean ran a hand through his hair, then shrugged. "If it's what ends up keeping him alive, that's all I care about," he said with the same gruff tenor. "I should call him anyway, make sure he's okay-"

"Dean… go home," Sam urged, already opening his laptop. "You're right, I'm not getting out of here tonight. Come back for me tomorrow. Go home and check on Cas. Make sure he eats a bit more. There's nothing you can do for me here."

When the older hunter hesitated, Sam looked up from his computer and shot him a wry smile. "Besides," he added, "you're too distracting. I need to research, so you need to go away."

"Hey, I know when I'm not wanted," Dean groused, holding up his hands. When he stood, though, there was an obvious lift in his shoulders. "You're sure?"

Sam bit back a comment about how he'd survived the past month without Dean there to hold his hand. It was a low blow, and it would accomplish nothing but lump more guilt onto Dean's already impressive complex. Instead he waved Dean off and nodded to his computer again. "Go. I've got work to do."

"…Okay, if you're sure. I'll be back for you tomorrow, okay, Sammy? I promise."

Yup. Dean and his complexes. Hearing the unspoken anxiety for Sam to know Dean wasn't just going to leave and not come back, the younger hunter obligingly met his eyes and offered a solemn nod.

"See you tomorrow. Tell Cas I'm doing everything I can. We'll figure it out."

Dean nodded, wavered another moment, then finally scooped up his bag and disappeared out the door. As soon as he was out of sight, Sam sank back into the hospital bed with a weary sigh and a heaviness in his heart.

Despite his optimistic words, he had absolutely no idea how they were going to get their angel back on his feet…

And he just couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't over yet.


	9. Give Me Just Your Trust

Cole limped into the motel room and eased himself down onto the chair by the small table. His laptop sat waiting, the screen dark. With the light shining from the floor lamp, Cole could just make out his reflection in the computer screen. He winced, touching his cheek gingerly and scowling. Damn. That bastard had done a number on his face.

Drawing in a deep breath, ignoring the ache in his ribcage, Cole turned the computer on and drummed his fingers on the table while it loaded too slowly.

"Where did you go?" he growled. The soldier slid a hand into his pocket, fingers clenching around a cool, metal object that he pulled out now. A set of keys.

The same set he had taken from Sam.

"Where's your little hidey-hole? You're gonna have to crawl back into it eventually."

The computer finally loaded, a program popping up with a soft _ping_. Cole's intense glare zeroed in on the screen. Icy satisfaction washed over his aching body like a balm. The tracker he'd sneaked into Sam's jacket pocket while the man was unconscious was working perfectly.

"Gotcha."

Clicking a button to review every place the tracker had pinged, Cole watched as the blinking red dot moved from the barn they'd been in to an unknown set of coordinates not far away. A quick search on his nav app told Cole that it was the nearest hospital. So Sam was probably there, but the tracker didn't stop for long. It continued to ping, on a straight shot along the same road Cole had been tailing Sam on to begin with, until it finally came to a halt on the outskirts of Lebanon.

There, the tracker stopped.

Good enough. Cole slammed the laptop closed and gathered up his things. Sam was contained for the time being, until Cole had finished with Dean. He was already visualizing the rematch in his head, and this time, Cole wasn't going to leave _any_ of them alive.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel was having a hard time discerning dream from reality. The fact that he was dreaming at all was clear enough evidence how bad off he was, and the moments when he returned to the waking world were filled with confusion and disorientation. The angel wasn't sure how much time he had left, but he had a feeling it wasn't much.

Of course, he'd been feeling that way for some time now, and still his body and spirit kept going. Who knew what sort of timeline he was actually looking at?

All Castiel knew was that he was cold and weak and miserable, so much like when he'd been first cast out into the human world without any grace. It added a layer of chill that the angel couldn't shake, a frank horror which he really didn't need on top of everything else.

Somewhere in the distance, a banging echo heralded one or both of the Winchesters' return. Castiel closed his eyes, listening, but he could only pick out one set of footsteps. Dean. But not Sam?

The angel tried to force a calmer expression on his face, not wanting to appear as run down as he actually felt, as he waited for Dean. Sure enough, a few short seconds preceded a soft knock on the door as the hunter appeared.

"Cas?"

"Dean." Castiel coughed and struggled to sit up straighter. "Sam- Sam's alright?"

"Yeah," Dean assured him, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. "He pulled through no problem. Just didn't figure he was really up for a car ride yet. I'll go pick him up tomorrow." The hunter hesitated, eyes shifting over Castiel, before he asked, "How about you? Hanging in there?"

"Yes," Castiel murmured. It wasn't entirely a lie; he was still alive. Still, the angel didn't bother to elaborate.

Dean nodded again, waiting a second, the he sighed and came to sit down in the chair still waiting beside Castiel's bed. "Cas… me and Sammy were talking. About you. And… this thing going on." He gestured to the angel's weakened body and shook his head. "And what to do about it."

Castiel exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. "I hope you've come to terms with the fact that there _is_ nothing to do about-"

"Wait, hear me out, okay, Cas?" Dean interrupted, leaning forward. "Look, um… shit, there's no easy way to say this."

"I already know. Dean, I told you, I'm going to die."

"No, damn it, that's not what I'm trying to say. We think there's a way out, but you're not gonna like it. Look, the grace is making you sick, so… I mean, there might only be one option here. Maybe we gotta take it out."

Silence fell over the pair. Castiel opened his eyes and studied his friend, waiting with incredulity to see if Dean would break into a grin at the _obvious_ joke, which was frankly insensitive and cruel. To the angel's horror, he saw instead only a somber sadness.

Dean… was… _serious_?

Castiel snorted and shook his head. "No."

"Cas, _listen_ -"

"No, Dean! I said, no!" Castiel leaned over, gasping for air as he felt the attack coming on. Dry heaves interspersed with the coughing fit made his body buckle. The angel fell down onto his side in the bed, too consumed with pain to worry about the pathetic picture he was making. Everything ached, down to his bones, down to his soul. Why wouldn't this just end?

"Cas? Cas!"

Wheezing for air, Castiel managed to gulp in enough oxygen to soothe the tremors in his body. He pushed Dean's hands away, though his muted strength could barely manage. The angel was still reeling, unable to believe his friend would even suggest such a thing.

"Why?" he choked out, a bitter taste in his mouth that came from more than just the blood he was starting to spit up. "Why would you- _how_ could you expect…" Castiel trailed off, no idea how to even form the question.

Dean sat back, awkward and unsure. "I _know_ it's not ideal…"

"Not ideal?" Castiel gritted out. "At least if I die, it's over. Without my grace, I would be human again. And that… I fail to see how I would be any better off."

"How can you say that?" Dean demanded. "Look, I get that you're an angel! But us humans aren't _that_ far beneath you-"

"Is that what you think I'm saying?" The angel shook his head, looking away from his friend. How could he begin to make Dean understand? "It's different for you. You have a home. You have Sam. You're a hunter, so you will always have a purpose. This Bunker… it's warm. It's safe. It's dry. You can get food any time you want it. You can…" Castiel's voice broke, much to his shame, though he barreled on regardless. "You can _shower_ any time you want to. You can sleep in a real bed, with nothing crawling through it. It's different for you, because you're not out there, in the cold, alone with _nothing_ but your hunger. I have no home... No purpose, no food, no money. If I become human, I have nothing and no one. It's… it's just different."

"What the hell are you-"

Dean broke off, his eyes widening. Castiel could see it when the truth registered, could watch the darkness rise into his friend's expression as he finally understood. Dean jumped to his feet, turning his back as his hands raked through his hair.

"Cas…"

The angel said nothing, and for a long moment, neither did Dean. The human's shoulders rose and fell to accompany audible breaths, and only after several deep inhalations did Dean turn back around.

"I…" he started softly, "will never… _ever_ … forgive myself for kicking you out of here."

Castiel sighed. This hadn't been his intent. "You did what you had to, and I forgave you long ago. But I'm no more prepared to endure it again now than I was then-"

"You don't have to!" Dean exploded. "Cas, you don't have to leave! What I did- what Gadreel made me do, it will _never_ happen again. Cas, you didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve any of it. But if you do this… if you become human… you have a home. This Bunker, all the food, you won't be hungry, or- or alone. And you'd have a purpose too, come on, man."

"What, be a hunter?" Castiel asked with a dry, pointed look. "I seem to remember you telling me I was bad at-"

"I know what I said. Screw it. You've always had our backs, Cas, and that's all I need. You've always watched out for us. Even when we didn't deserve it. Dude, you've already got your own room and everything."

The hunter leaned in, grabbing Castiel's sleeve. "Look at me," he said. "I need you to know I'm serious. Your place is with us. Angel, human, whatever. I promise you, Cas, I _promise_ you… you'll always have a home, and you'll always have us. Please, at least just think about it."

The angel sighed and glanced aside. It was hard _not_ to associate humanity with the nightmare of homelessness, of struggling to learn how to act, how to _live_ , without any guidance but what he had managed to pick up along the way.

"I… I don't know if I can," he admitted. "The truth is, I was barely getting by."

"We'll help you. Sammy and me. And who knows? Maybe we'll find a way to get your original grace back. We'll keep looking, but if we don't do this, you might not last that long."

That was entirely true. Castiel's mouth twisted, reluctant to agree even with the promise of safety and shelter. Not that he wanted to die, either. If this was the only way…

The angel took in a deep breath, teetering on the edge of assuring Dean he would consider the option as a last resort, but the words never came out. A spasm ripped through his body, so sharp that it made Castiel cry out from the unexpected pain. He crumpled onto his side again, thrashing on the bed as he was assaulted by a wave of agony.

"Cas! Shit, Cas!"

The angel's stomach cramped from the onslaught. Bile forced itself up and out of his throat, burning the same way his grace had burned when it, too, was forcibly expelled from his body. Castiel barely had time to lean over the side of the bed before he was choking and vomiting.

Somewhere nearby, Dean cursed. Castiel hoped vaguely that he hadn't gotten any of the mess on his friend, but when the coughing began again, ripping his throat to shreds, he forgot about everything but the pain.

Blood spattered from his mouth, followed by another bitter heave. Castiel gasped for air, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes from the complete lack of control he had over his disintegrating body.

"Hey, I gotcha, you're okay. Cas, you're okay."

A trash can appeared in front of his nose, then a surprisingly gentle hand settled on his back. "Just get it all up, you're fine."

Castiel grabbed the trash can and vomited again, but this time there was a soft ringing in his ears—the celestial echo of grace, trying to evacuate before it burned him up.

"Dean," he groaned. "Get out. Hurry…"

"No way. You- whoa, _shit_."

The hunter had reached out to touch Castiel's forehead, as though to gauge a fever, but he snapped his hand back just as quickly. The brief contact burned like ice. How could Dean be so cold? Or was Castiel just so hot?

"Dude, you're burning!"

"It's… the grace…" Castiel's head swam. If the time had come, he had better focus on saying his goodbye. "Thank you, my friend. For everything. You've been-"

"Stop it."

A rustle of flannel and denim flashed in the angel's periphery as Dean jumped to his feet and retreated. Rather abrupt, but as long as he was out of the way. A second later, though, Castiel heard a splash of water hit the floor and looked up in dismay.

"Dean, no, what are you doing?" the angel gasped out, watching Dean pour water from the bottle over a strip of cloth. "You should run. You promised!"

"Shove it, Cas," Dean snapped as he put the bottle down and returned to the angel's side. "You're not going yet."

Stubbornly refusing to leave, the hunter dabbed the cloth on Castiel's forehead, mopping off the sweat that was beading there. The cool touch eased some of the burn, and Castiel couldn't help but sigh softly in gratitude. When his stomach spasmed again, the angel was left gagging and clutching the trash can he was hunched over, but nothing came up. Finally, the heaving started to dissipate.

"You good?"

Wordlessly, Castiel nodded, though it felt far from true. He swallowed against the acrid taste of bile, then blinked when Dean pressed the water bottle into his hand. The angel nodded again and took a long drink, rinsing out his mouth and spitting into the trash can. When he'd drank his fill, he slumped back against the headboard and closed his eyes, chest heaving from the exertion of the sickness.

Dean didn't say anything as the cool, wet cloth resumed dabbing at the angel's forehead and cheeks, a balm and a comfort that Castiel hadn't been expecting. Though he knew there was no way the hunter could save him, just the attempt was working wonders for Castiel's heart.

He wasn't alone. That meant everything.

"Dude, you're still really hot," Dean finally spoke up. Though his voice was casual, the angel caught the note of concern. "I mean, _really_ hot. If you were human, I'd let you sweat it out, but…"

But he _wasn't_ human, and his grace was not going to be "sweated out". It was going to explode. Castiel wanted to assure his friend he'd done more than enough, and insist once again that Dean honor his promise and get out of the destruction zone, but he just couldn't form the words.

After a second of hesitation, Dean seemed to come to a decision. The cloth was pulled away and the trash can full of sick eased back and set aside. Castiel didn't have the energy to fight as Dean grabbed his arm and pulled it over the hunter's shoulder.

"Come on, up you get," Dean grunted, struggling to extricate Castiel from the sheets.

The angel somehow managed to get his feet on the floor, though when he stood he would have fallen right over if not for the stabilizing presence of his friend. He wheezed, letting Dean half-carry him towards the door.

"Where…?"

"We gotta get your temp down," Dean explained as the pair shuffled slowly into the hall, the hunter still taking the bulk of the weight. "Come on, man, just a little farther. Here we go."

Inch by inch, they journeyed the long march to the bathroom only two doors away from Castiel's. The angel wasn't convinced this would provide any benefit, but nor could he bring himself to push Dean away when his friend was clearly trying so hard. It eased the weight on Castiel's shoulders, lightened the burden in his heart, and urged him to fight—just a little harder—to survive.

"In you get," Dean ordered, not bothering to remove any of the angel's layers of clothing as he helped guide Castiel into the tub.

Castiel sank down, huddled miserably in a ball of sweat and fever, with his arms wrapped around his knees. The sudden stream of cold water hit him hard enough for the angel to gasp with surprise. Icy droplets dripped down his face, though the cool touch barely penetrated the heat radiating from the angel's body.

"Always did have good water pressure," Castiel gasped, not sure why now of all times his mind was turning to ironic humor. More and more during his time here, he was coming to realize just how much the Winchesters had rubbed off on him.

Dean made a strangled sound, a choked off laugh, as he pushed the plug into the drain to let the tub fill. "Yeah," he agreed. "And you're gonna get to enjoy that all you want this time. I promise."

The angel couldn't muster the energy to reply, but he nodded as the cold water started to ease at least some of the searing heat. He wanted to protest that Dean was getting drenched, sitting there and holding him up. Castiel had to admit, though, if his friend were to let go, he'd likely keel over.

Besides, if there was one thing to be said for the Righteous Man, it was that he always kept his promises.

If Dean Winchester said he was going to be there for Castiel, the angel's mind could be at ease. Dean wasn't going anywhere.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean was worried.

Much more worried than he was letting on, or at least he _hoped_ he was being calm and reassuring and under control. He didn't know what condition Cas had been in when Sam had first called the angel, but he seemed to be deteriorating rapidly. Obviously being held captive wouldn't have done him any favors, but by the time Dean got his friend's temperature down to a more reasonable level, Cas was only vaguely conscious.

Getting him dried off and into a spare set of sweats was a chore in itself, but Dean managed to get the angel and himself dressed.

"Okay… come on, up," he grumbled, hoisting his friend to his feet and pulling Cas's arm over his shoulder again. The angel's head lolled as he muttered something about how Dean should go get Sam.

"Sam's a big boy," Dean grunted back, straining to keep Cas upright. "I'll get him tomorrow. Come on, let's get you back in bed."

They were winning no races, but the pair made their slow way back to Cas's room. Dean wondered if it wouldn't be better to keep him closer to the shower, in case that crazy-ass fever spiked again, but the angel would be more comfortable in an actual bed.

It hurt to see how weak Cas was, to see the same angel-of-the-Lord who'd gone up against demons and monsters and archangels now barely able to walk, half-carried by Dean. When the hunter got his friend back in the bed at last, he immediately straightened and took a step back.

"Hold on, Cas," he said. "I'm gonna grab an ice pack from the freezer. I'll just be a minute."

Cas's eyes were already closed, but he nodded. Crap, and Dean still needed to clean up the vomit and disinfect the trash can, and he should make sure the angel got some more to drink…

Grabbing the garbage bin on his way out, Dean hurried towards the bathroom again to empty the can into the toilet before doubling back to the kitchen. Ice pack… water… bleach… paper towels or a mop or something… he ran down the mental checklist as he collected the necessities. By the time Dean got back to Cas's bedroom, the angel was out like a light. His breaths were slow but heavy, face pinched and grey, but at least the fever seemed to be over for the time being.

Hopefully they had a little time now. Placing the ice pack against Cas's forehead, Dean set the water bottle and a pack of crackers on the nightstand. Then he got to work on the mess, having gone through this routine a few too many times over the years.

Not until everything was clean again did he stop to collapse into the chair next to Cas's bed and prop his feet up. Dean crossed his arms, watching the angel in his fitful sleep.

"Come on, buddy," he murmured. "I really need you to pull through. Don't quit on me now, man."

Dean wasn't an idiot; this was bad. When Cas had started burning like that… shit. The hunter closed his eyes, taking a deep, bolstering breath. Their "last resort" was about to become their only option. If it happened again, Dean would have to act, whether they were ready or not. The only thing stopping him now was the fact that Sam was on the job. If there _was_ another option, Sam would figure it out. Dean had to at least give him a little time.

But tomorrow… one way or the other, they'd have to take care of this. Cas was suffering, and Dean couldn't watch it happen. At least the angel seemed to trust that he would be able to stay, though. A ripple of horror washed through the hunter again, remembering how terrified Cas had seemed at the notion of being thrown out onto the streets on his own—again.

Dean could never hope to make up for what he had done, but maybe… maybe proving himself from here on out would be a start.

"Just hold on, Cas," he said out loud again, though the angel was dead to the world. "We're not gonna let you go."


	10. And I'll Give You My All

Sam winced as the Impala hit a bump in the road—not even a large pothole, merely a seam in the surface that wasn't totally even. It took next to nothing to jar his battered body, even though he knew Dean was trying to be as careful as he could. If the fact that he was going at least five _under_ the speed limit was any indication.

"Dude, you've still got a couple hours before we're home," Dean pointed out from the driver's seat, half-glancing his way. "Take a nap or something."

Sam shook his head. "I don't think I really want to," he mumbled before he could stop himself, the last dose of morphine probably lowering his guard more than it should.

From the look Dean shot him, Sam could tell the remark hadn't gone unnoticed, and the way his brother's jaw tightened said an explanation wasn't necessary. Nightmares were just a normal part of their lives.

"Wanna talk about it?" Dean finally asked, which was a bit of a surprise, given how much the older Winchester tended to avoid the subject of feelings.

Not that Sam himself was eager to revisit his time Cole, nor the horrors brought upon him in the vulnerable state of sleep. He exhaled slowly, mind returning to the dreams… Cole bearing down on him while he was bound and helpless to fight back, the feeling of a gun barrel pressing into his head, the sound of a hammer on fragile bone… and then the other part. Sam's breath caught.

"Sam?"

"I, um…" He cleared his throat, looking out the window instead of at Dean. "I dreamed that… you answered the phone the first time Cole called you."

From his periphery, Sam saw his brother glance over at him, but Dean didn't say anything. Just waited. Sam heaved a sigh and pretended there weren't tears in his eyes.

"And… you, um… you told him if I'd gotten caught it was… it was my own problem, and… you weren't coming, so he could go ahead and do whatever he wanted. Because, the Mark… you didn't care if-" He couldn't go on any further into the story, throat closing up at the memory of the nightmare.

Silence. Sam still didn't look at Dean, _couldn't_ look at Dean, but twitched in surprise when the Impala suddenly slowed down and pulled over. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as Dean guided the car onto the shoulder and killed the engine.

"Sammy."

"It was just a nightmare," Sam quickly whispered, as though it wasn't still haunting him. His eyes closed when a firm hand grabbed his arm.

"Hey. Sammy, look at me, come on."

Exhaling, Sam twisted in his seat back towards his brother, opening his eyes and watching Dean with pain and pleading that couldn't be spoken. To his surprise, Dean's face was covered in a mask of sadness.

"I wish I hadn't taken this damn thing," Dean admitted in the quiet car. "And we're gonna get it off as soon as we figure out how, once we get Cas back up on his feet. But Sammy… damn it, I'm so sorry. There is nowhere— _nowhere_ —that anyone could take you that I wouldn't move Heaven and Hell to find you. You're my brother. The Mark doesn't change that. Hell, the only thing that was keeping me on the reservation was your dumb ass, calling me every other hour. No matter how pissed you were, you didn't give up on me, and I… I need you to know, Sammy, I would _never_ give up on you. I would _never_ just ditch you with some lunatic and let him-"

Now Dean was getting emotional, too, his grip on Sam's arm tightening to the point that it would have been painful if Sam hadn't desperately needed the contact and the reassurance.

"You idiot," Dean finished with a breathless snort. "What would I do if he killed you?"

"Something stupid, I'm sure," Sam shot back, a little watery but with more strength.

Dean didn't even argue, just nodded in musing agreement. "Yeah, probably. Look, Cole's dead. He can't hurt you. And I'm here, and I'm still me for the moment, and with your freaky smart brain, I'm sure we'll come up with something. Alright?"

Sam took a breath and nodded back. He didn't know _how_ yet, but he wasn't going to lose his brother. No matter what. Feeling better, he gave Dean a wan half-smile.

"Good talk," Dean grumbled, gruff again as the moment passed. He turned the engine back on and pulled carefully onto the road once more. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam automatically replied, then smiled a little more. His face fell slightly as another thought occurred to him. "Did you talk to Cas about…?"

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "He's not thrilled. I don't think we've got a choice, though. I didn't wanna worry you, but he's not doing so good. As in, whatever we're gonna do, we gotta do it today. I don't think he's got longer than that."

Damn it. Sam had been afraid of that. He'd known all along it would most likely come down to this, and knowing he hadn't found a better solution in time stung like acid in his heart. Poor Cas… at least that other angel's grace had bought him a little more time as an angel, but it wasn't worth it if that was what killed him in the end.

"And I gotta say," Dean spoke up again. "I'm not really digging the idea of just cutting it out of him, either. What the hell are we supposed to do, hold him down and slit his throat like Metatron did? There's _gotta_ be something else-"

"God, no!" Sam gasped, eyes widening in horror at the idea. A chill wracked through him at that image; even with Cas consenting, Sam didn't know if he could have done it. "There's a syringe at the Bunker. The Men of Letters used it for grace extraction. It's still gonna hurt…" Hurt like a _bitch_ , and hopefully not kill Cas anyway. It was a risk, but doing nothing would mean certain death. "But at least we won't have to cut him open."

Dean slumped with obvious relief. Sam had forgotten that his brother didn't know about the grace extraction device, now feeling bad for Dean and what he'd probably been trying to steel himself for.

"Anyway, he never _really_ agreed, but I think he was starting to lean that way," the older Winchester finished. "So as soon as we get back, you're gonna rest for a while-" No room for Sam to protest. "-and then we'll talk to him. But it's gotta be today."

Sam nodded and leaned back into the seat. He winced again as the Impala couldn't fully avoid a bump in the uneven road. They were all going to need some time to be fully on the mend, but his family was known for overcoming the impossible, and Sam was convinced all three of them would do just that.

SPN SPN SPN

It was still early afternoon by the time Dean pulled the Impala back into the familiar cover of the Bunker's driveway and turned off the engine with a sigh of relief. Sammy was home; check one more item off the to-do list. Next step, convince Cas to let them remove his grace. As long as they did this one step at a time, the daunting tasks they had ahead didn't seem as overwhelming.

"Okay," Dean grunted as he shoved his door open and jumped out. "Hang on."

He hurried around to the passenger side while Sam opened the door, then held out his hand to help his brother to his feet. There was no hiding the frank pain it caused, but Sam gamely fought through it without a word. Not that this stopped Dean from watching his brother like a hawk, waiting for the slightest sign that Sam was about to fall.

With one foot swathed in bandages from the bullet wound, Sam had to use his other leg to bear his share of the weight, though he was leaning heavily on Dean. The hunter was getting a good workout, helping his various family members ambulate… Dean really didn't like this form of exercise.

"Now I get why Crowley calls you Moose," he grumbled, puffing with exertion as they slowly descended the exterior staircase to the sunken front door, one step at a time. "Hang on a sec." They paused so Dean could fumble through his key set one-handed, finally locating the one for the Bunker and unlocking the door. It creaked open on its hinges, allowing the brothers to shuffle inside before it swung shut behind them.

"We gotta think about putting an elevator in," Sam groaned.

Eyeing the interior staircase—twice as long as the ones they'd just come down—Dean had to agree. What would they have done if Cas hadn't fixed Sam's knee, if the hunter was stuck in a wheelchair? Filing that thought away for another time, Dean adjusted his grip on Sam and then urged him forward.

"Come on, one at a time," he badgered. "You can take a nap when we get down there."

Together, focus fixed on each individual stair, the brothers worked their way down the staircase. Though Sam didn't utter a sound, Dean could feel his grip getting tighter and tighter as the movements aggravated his injuries.

Damn it, Dean wished he hadn't let Cole off so easily- no, he couldn't think that way. The Mark on his arm pulsed at the first hint of Dean's desire to extract more blood, more pain from the man who had done this to his family. Already, Dean was scared that if he killed again—monster or otherwise—it might be the kill that sent him over the edge. He didn't dare take another life until the Mark was gone.

Finally, they reached the bottom, both brothers breathing a sigh of relief. Sam was hunched over from the pain now, making Dean feel better at having swiped some more morphine.

"We're home free now," he joked. "Two steps up into the library, a couple more to the hall, then straight to your bedroom. How you doing?"

"Fine," Sam grunted as they crossed the smooth floor of the war room, heading for the library. They took the few steps a little slower, and Sam exhaled sharply. "I just-" He froze, taking Dean by surprise as the older hunter watched the ground in front of them for obstacles. The sudden stop made him glance up at his brother in confusion.

"What?"

"Cas!"

What? Dean's gaze whipped around to follow Sam's line of sight. His heart stuttered to a stop as he saw a motionless leg stretched out on the floor between the tables. The rest of Cas was hidden behind the support column.

"Damn it!" Dean's mind raced; what the hell was Cas doing out of bed? Had he been heading for the kitchen, needing more food than the crackers Dean had left for him, or… or was he trying to run again? Was Cas so afraid of becoming human, so worried about being turned out of the Bunker, that he'd decided to let the grace kill him after all?

Dean wanted to run to the angel's side, but the hunter's hands were full and he couldn't just drop Sam. He looked wildly for the nearest chair he could deposit his brother into, when another voice made the world stop spinning.

"He's dead."

Cole stepped out from behind the support beam, gun in his hand and smile on his bruised face. He was holding the angel halfway off the floor by the back of his shirt, and as he emerged, he dragged Cas out behind him and then dropped him to the floor with a heavy thud.

Dean couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't even care about the weapon pointed directly at him. His mind played the words over and over again, ripping into his heart.

_He's dead… he's dead… he's dead…_

"Don't worry," Cole went on, nudging Cas's lifeless arm aside with his foot. "I made it quick. For a so-called 'angel', it was surprisingly easy. I guess a pillow over the face does it for just about everything… only took a minute for him to stop struggling."

"You shut your mouth," Dean hissed, hands starting to clench. It wasn't true… _couldn't_ be true. Cas, oh god… "I killed you!"

"Yet here I am, Dean-o," Cole said, smile widening. His eyes flicked to the taller Winchester. "Hey, Sammy."

"You bastard," Sam whispered with trembling voice.

"I'll make it quick for you, too. No reason to drag this out. I think you've had enough."

"You're a real hero," Dean snarled. His blood heated, the Mark starting to glow. Kill… he needed to kill. Even if it ruined him, he would destroy Cole, he would spill _every_ drop of blood in the bastard's body, and he would _break_ the man who had murdered his best friend.

Cole shrugged. "Nah. But at least I'm not a monster."

"The hell you're not!" Sam choked out. "You…"

"Like I said," Cole cut him off, brandishing the gun and stepping closer. "I'm gonna make this quick. Bye, Sam."

Dean didn't stop to think—probably couldn't have if he'd wanted to, anyway. Blood pounded in his ears, blotted out his vision of everything but Cole, tinged in red. He shoved Sam away from him a fraction of a second before the echoing sound of the gunshot, just in time to get his brother out of the line of fire, and then his mind went dark.

With a roar of fury, the hunter charged forward, tackling Cole to the ground. Somewhere, he heard the gun fall. Somewhere, he heard Sam's agonized shout as he hit the floor as well, but at least he was alive. Unlike…

Dean shouted again as the knowledge that he'd left Cas unprotected and undefended consumed him. Cas, too sick to walk to the bathroom, too weak to keep his eyes open, waiting for Dean to come home and instead met with an intruder coming to kill him… Cas, and the muffled sound of shock as a pillow was put over his face with all of Cole's weight to hold it down… Cas, trying to struggle, desperately clawing for breath until finally his life slipped away because his grace was useless now…

Dean's fist flew, over and over, pounding into Cole's face, his gut, any part of him that he could reach. His knuckles split, hot with blood. He wanted more.

"Dean! Dean, stop!"

Sam's voice was just background noise, the buzzing of an insect as Dean grappled with his enemy. Cole managed to roll them both over, dripping blood from his nose as he took the upper hand and slammed Dean's head down onto the solid wood floor.

Stars burst in Dean's vision, briefly whiting out the red haze shrouding him. He lay there, stunned, as his head swam in a nauseating, concussive blur. The weight on him disappeared.

"Sammy, you first. Nothing personal."

Dean's head lolled to the side, watching a set of feet walk away from him. Another blur of color was moving across the floor; Sammy, crawling as fast as he could. Right, there was a gun under the desk…

 _Kill him,_ the Mark whispered, smooth susurrations in Dean's mind. The sinister, sinewy whisper echoed in pounding time to the rush of blood in his veins. _Kill him… kill him… kill him…_

Sam reached the desk, snatching the gun hidden there, pointing it at Cole. Dean heard the report of the gun, but the grunt of pain that followed was Sam's. Cole must have been close enough to knock Sam's arm aside.

"I won't let you hurt him!" Sam gasped. "You'll have to go through me."

Cole snorted. "Shouldn't be too hard."

Dean heard a gun clatter to the floor as he clawed his way back to full consciousness fighting the dizzying fog from the blow to the head. When his vision cleared, Sam was propped up on one arm on the floor, the other hand defensively extended towards Cole. The soldier loomed over him, his own pistol pointed at Sam's head.

 _Kill him…_ the Mark insisted, but now there was another voice in Dean's mind, pushing back the influence of the evil Mark: Sam, telling him of a nightmare. And Dean's response: _The only thing keeping me on the reservation was your dumb ass._

Sam needed him, needed him _whole_. Despite his rage, despite the body of his best friend lying lifeless and still beside him, Dean forced the Mark aside and scrambled to his feet. He watched Cole kick Sam's gun away, sending it skittering across the library floor with the screech of metal. Dean ignored this, slamming into Cole yet again.

This time, though, Cole was too quick for Dean to get on top of. They rolled down the steps into the war room, then both jumped to their feet. Cole had managed to keep a hold of his gun, but didn't use it. Instead, he turned and ran back up to the library. Dean could only watch in helpless fury as Cole grabbed a chunk of Sam's hair and pulled him in tight as a shield.

No one moved. Dean was frozen, glaring into the library as the soldier used his brother as a hostage— _again_. Sam was kneeling, both hands trying to grab Cole's arms so his whole weight wouldn't be held by the grip on his hair. Cole himself had the gun against Sammy's head, breathing heavily as he scowled back into the war room at Dean.

"It's over," he snapped. "I win."

"There's no way you walk outta here alive," Dean seethed. He was only barely holding the Mark's influence at bay… if Cole killed Sammy now, there would be no reason to hold on any longer, no reason to stop himself from giving in. Sam was the only thing keeping Dean human.

Cole grinned, but it was full of bitterness and spite. "You know, I don't even care," he said, tightening his grip on the already wounded Winchester. "As long as I take you down with me. So I'm gonna shoot Sammy here in the head. And then you're gonna go crazy and come charging in, and I'm gonna shoot you, too, then burn all three of you to a pile of ashes."

Despite the chilling threat, Dean couldn't fully focus, distracted by a slip of movement in the background. His expression never changed, too skilled at playing it cool to reveal what he had seen, but his heart fluttered back to life with a fountain of relief and renewed determination.

He said nothing as Cole shook his head.

"Was it worth it?" the soldier demanded. "Killing my dad? Was it worth losing everyone you love?"

"Your dad was a monster-"

"Just save it, Dean-o. Monsters, demons, guys with glowing blood… you believe in demons, Dean?" Cole snorted. "You believe in angels?"

Dean's face split into a grim smile, eyes hardening as he met the soldier's gaze and lifted his chin.

"I believe in one."

The shot echoed in the otherwise still Bunker, ripping through the tense atmosphere. Cole's body jerked, eyes opening wide in shock. Another shot, then another. The soldier jolted again and again, his grip on Sam falling slack. For a minute, he and Dean stared at each other, one surprised and the other stony.

A trickle of blood dripped from Cole's mouth. Then he fell.

Behind him, still stretched out on the floor, Cas dropped Sam's discarded gun with a weary sigh. His eyelids fluttered and his cheek came to rest on the cool wood as Sam swiveled around to see what happened.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, dashing forward. He ignored Cole's dead body— _really_ dead this time, if the entry wounds in the back of his skull meant anything—and flung himself down beside the angel. "Hey… hey, you're alright. You're alive. Oh god, Cas…"

Too exhausted with relief to care about appearances, Dean hauled Cas up and wrapped his arms around the angel firmly, whispering soft reassurances.

"Dean?" Sam demanded from behind them, pulling himself over. "Is he…?"

"He's alive!" Dean gasped. "Everyone's alive."

"He… he took me by surprise," Cas whispered into Dean's shoulder. "I couldn't…"

"It's okay. You got him, Cas. You got him, he's dead."

"I thought I was, too," Cas murmured.

Dean's heart tightened. He'd thought the same. But _both_ his brothers were okay. Dean raised his head as Sam slid in next to them, leaning against the table leg with exhaustion. Eyes sliding up to his brother's mussed hair, Dean couldn't help but shake his head.

"I swear to god I'm gonna cut it all off in your sleep one of these nights."

"Not if you wanna see morning," Sam shot back, but the joking air was covered in a layer of concern as he grabbed Cas's arm as though needing the proof for himself that the angel was truly alright. "Cas…"

"I'm fine, Sam. I'm sorry if I worried you-"

But then he started coughing again, and couldn't seem to stop. Being suffocated had been the last thing his condition had needed, and to have been close enough to dead that even Cole had been fooled… Dean winced, waiting for the fit to pass, but it didn't. The angel writhed in Dean's arms, drenched in sweat even as he shivered. He was getting too hot again. Dean's heart sank.

They were out of time.

Meeting Sam's alarmed eyes, the hunter nodded curtly. He gripped his friend in spite of the heat as Cas finally sank back in exhaustion. After a few more light coughs, it seemed to be over for the moment.

Sam traded another quick look with Dean, then took a breath. "We can't lose you, Cas. You're part of this family. I know you don't like the idea of being human, but… if it's between that or us having to go on without you… And this is a big decision, I know, but it looks like it's now or never."

"Cas," Dean added quietly. "Please."

Cas exhaled, pulling himself away from Dean's grip and struggling to sit up, though none of them even tried to get up off the floor. The angel's jaw tightened, then he looked from one Winchester to the other with eyes rimmed red with fever.

"He told me he was doing me a favor," Cas said softly, glancing past them to Cole's dead body. "When he was smothering me. I… decided I disagree." He turned back to the brothers. "I don't enjoy the thought of being human. I don't look forward to the extraction process. But I don't want to die. You- you're my family. I want to enjoy that a little longer."

He gripped Dean's arm, nodding to the Mark. "That means you need to get this taken off." Then he grabbed Sam with his other hand, uniting the three in one unbroken link. "And you need to take care of yourself, not just everyone else."

The brothers glanced at each other, then nodded agreement. Whatever it took to keep them together as a family, they would do. Things were about to get very difficult, but when were their lives ever _not_ difficult?

Reaching for Sam, Dean completed the circle. Though the Mark still wanted blood, the desire wasn't nearly as strong as his love for his family, and for now that would hold the evil at bay.

"Alright," he said. "It's decided. Team Free Will. We've got your back, Cas."

The angel nodded. "And I've got yours." Cas paused, then looked up with eyes burning with determination. "And that's all that matters."


	11. Epiloge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, folks! :D I got enough people asking to see more with the grace extraction and such, I had to tag on an epilogue. Cheers!

“We’ll be right here, Cas. I promise.”

Castiel looked up at Dean, hoping his expression conveyed trust instead of the fear that ate away at his insides. The hunter’s face was only half lit by the lamp next to Castiel’s bed, the other half hidden in shadow but just as anxious. The angel nodded.

“If I don’t survive the process-” he started, but Sam shifted forward to interrupt him with a hand to the angel’s arm.

“You will,” he insisted. “I did.”

Castiel angled a look his way. “We didn’t remove the entirety of Gadreel’s remaining grace,” he reminded his friend. “I stopped _because_ it was killing you. And you were not as weak as I am now.”

“Yeah, but you said it was because my body was reverting to its state before Gadreel. With the trials and all. You don’t have that to worry about.” 

Dean looked down at the needle he held, the needle that Castiel was trying _not_ to look at. “What if we do it a bit at a time?”

“I doubt it would make a difference,” Castiel admitted. “And it may cause the remaining grace to burn faster to compensate.”

“Yeah, okay, that’s not good,” Dean decided.

The angel gave his friend a tired smile, reading the uncertainty and self-loathing that were constant, unfortunate companions to the hunter. “Dean,” he murmured. “You were right, this has to be done. It’s okay.”

Dean closed his eyes, tilting his face away. “God, I just don’t wanna do this to you, Cas.”

Castiel coughed and fought to hold back the tremors trying to rip him apart from the inside. He wanted to say more in comfort, but it was too difficult to form the words. The faster they did this, the sooner it would be over, and the sooner Sam would let Dean help him to his own room to continue recovering from Cole’s torture. And the sooner Dean could get the soldier’s dead body out of the library.

Sam gave his arm one more squeeze, then sat back. “We’ll be here,” he whispered, echoing his older brother’s words. “When it’s done, we’ll be right here.”

With that promise giving him the strength to see this through, Castiel raised his chin slightly, resting fully back on the bed and wrapping his fists in the sheets. He’d seen how much pain this had caused Sam; he was under no delusions that it would be any better for himself.

“If I don’t survive this-” he started again, but was interrupted a second time.

“Survive it,” Dean growled. “For us. ‘Cause we need you here.”

The angel’s heart warmed, though not enough to overpower the trepidation as Dean raised the syringe. He closed his eyes as the tip settled against his neck. The needle slid in. And then Castiel’s world exploded into pain.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean hated himself. Cas’s screams gouged their way through his eardrums to etch permanently into his brain, but it was too late to stop now. The plunger on the syringe was difficult to draw, as though the grace that was killing Cas was fighting him somehow. Like it _wanted_ to stay in the angel, like it wanted to finish what it had started.

Or, maybe it was resisting because Cas would die without it. Maybe it was the only thing keeping the warrior angel alive. Dean tried to squash that thought, because the notion that _he_ was killing his best friend—even if Cas faced certain death if he _didn’t_ do this—was more than he could take.

“Come on, Cas,” he growled over the angel’s agonized cries. “Come on! Hang in there.”

“You have to go in deeper,” Sam said, sounding nauseated. “If you don’t get _all_ of it...”

“How the hell am I supposed to know if I’ve gotten all of it?” Dean snapped. Sam was the one who’d at least seen this done before, damn it, so why did this fall to Dean to do this to Cas?

No, that wasn’t fair of him, he was just stressed. Sam was in no condition to be moving, let alone fighting the stubborn syringe.

The cries cut off as Cas clenched his teeth together hard enough to make his jaw creak. He moaned, sounding so weak that Dean shuddered.

"Dean," the angel gritted out. "Dean..."

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. Without another word, he pushed the needle even deeper into Cas's neck, eliciting another round of screams that made Sam turn his head with an expression of agony. Still, Dean forced himself on, using all his strength to pull more of the grace into the barrel of the syringe. There was enough of it now that the hunters could see the usually gleaming white light was instead a sickly chartreuse instead. It reminded Dean of swamp scum, like the grace had actually festered inside of Cas. No wonder it was killing him… and no way could they put it back in now.

The angel's body bucked suddenly, nearly wrenching the needle away from Dean.

"Shit! Sammy, you gotta hold him!"

Sam lurched forward to grab Cas's shoulder, grunting as the motion pulled at his own injuries. "Yeah, I got him. Hurry... he's getting warm."

"I know, I feel it. Just hold him, damn it! Cas, hang in there!"

Doubling his efforts, Dean pulled harder and harder at the syringe until the barrel was nearly full. He wondered suddenly what they were supposed to do if the Men of Letters had misjudged the size they'd need to contain an angel's grace.

But then, the pressure on the syringe plunger disappeared, so quickly that Dean almost jerked the entire apparatus apart. A trickle of blood swirled into the barrel; it was done.

Cas went limp. His body, which had been burning far too hot only a second before, now felt cold to the touch beneath Dean's fingertips as he frantically withdrew the needle and dropped the syringe onto the bedside table.

"Cas!" he shouted, patting his friend's ashen cheeks. No response. Dean's voice broke as he called again, "Cas!"

Beside him, Sam wasn't moving, frozen with his hand still gripping Cas's shoulder. "Is he..."

Dean's shaking fingers almost couldn't find their way to the motionless angel's wrist. Silence fell as he searched for a sign of a pulse. Putting Cas in the bed, which had been intended as a way to make him as comfortable as possible, was now going to work against them if he needed CPR.

The hunter's heart froze. "Nothing..."

Sam's breath hitched and he jerked upright, nearly falling over the bed when his wounded legs didn't hold him. "Cas! CAS!"

"Move," Dean snapped, leaning his head down close to Cas's mouth, feeling for a puff of breath while simultaneously watching for a rise and fall of the chest. He dropped Cas's ice cold wrist, feeling instead for his throat. Dean found the carotid artery then held his breath.

The seconds ticked by as Dean prayed to anyone who was listening to spare Cas, pleading to have not just killed his best friend. Finally, he fell limp with relief and straightened back up.

"Got a pulse."

Sam slumped back with an audible breath of relief. Dean ran a hand through his hair, eyes burning as he watched the motionless angel—no… the motionless human—on the bed. Though he knew he ought to do something, like cover Cas up or find a safe place to dispose of the festered grace or help Sam to bed, he needed a minute to get a hold of himself.

“You did it, Dean,” Sam murmured.

“He ain’t outta the woods yet.” Not to be a raincloud, but if Cas was so cold Dean couldn’t get a radial pulse, he had to be approaching hypothermic levels. They needed to get his blood moving, get him warmed up. Then there was the fact that no one knew what the stolen grace might have done to his body… Dean still remembered what Lucifer had looked like as he burned through a vessel that wasn’t supposed to hold him, and what if Cas was just as bad off? Plus, the angel probably hadn’t eaten anything for over a month before getting to the Bunker and he’d thrown most of that up, which meant they needed to start getting him some nutrition.

And all of that was just the physical problems.  

“He’s freezing,” Sam said as he reached out to press a hand against Cas’s cheek. “We need blankets. Hot water bottles.”

Cas’s lips were blue, his face grey. Why had extracting the grace left him so cold? Dean suddenly remembered Cas’s protest against becoming human, how he’d been so cold out on the street on his own. He shuddered; they _had_ to warm Cas up before he woke.

“Dean!”

“Right,” the hunter said, giving himself a shake. “Stay here, start rubbing his arms and legs. I’ll grab some blankets and stuff.”

Sam nodded and shifted his chair closer to the bed so he could help. Dean threw one last look at the angel—no, the human—and hurried out the door.

SPN SPN SPN

Everything was dark. Castiel felt his arms like leaden weights at his sides as he turned a slow circle only to find more and more nothingness. Even the bleak emptiness of the dark seemed to have a fuzzy quality to it, though, an abstractness that was just outside of his ability to grasp. Where was he? What was happening?

“Get out,” a voice whispered.

A chill rippled through Castiel’s heart. “Dean?”

“Get. Out.”

“But…” But Dean had promised him he could stay… Dean had promised. Castiel was too numb to even be sad; the words drove all feeling, all sense, all knowledge from his mind.

“There’s no room for you,” Sam’s voice insisted, tinny and hollow. “You have to go. Sorry, Cas.”

Castiel turned again, arms coming up to hug himself in an attempt to ward off the freezing wind. “But… I thought…”

“Look, it’s nothing personal,” Dean assured him from the darkness, though it was no reassurance at all. “It’s just… well, we really only needed an angel. Since you’re not one…”

“I’m sure you’ll find a homeless shelter.”

“You can’t stay here.”

“There’s always leftover food in the dumpsters if you get hungry.”

The echoing voices overlapped, each one twisting the darkness into an image instead. It was a vivid scene that Castiel remembered all too well. He clutched his chest, not sure why it felt like his heart was beating too hard as he gazed around the grimy alley. He could almost feel the frigid, pelting rain that poured on the figure huddled as far into a doorway as he could.

“No,” Castiel whispered, slumping in defeat as he recognized his own shivering form, with nothing but a ratty sweater to ward off the elements. He could hear his own stomach growl, could feel the cramping of hunger. He remembered this.

But above all, he remembered the loneliness, abandoned by everyone from his father to his brethren, and finally cast out by the friends he had given everything to. Used up, and then thrown away.

Castiel sank to his knees, oblivious to the dingy puddles as hopelessness descended. Dean had _promised_. 

“Cas?”

He tensed at the sound of Dean’s voice, but it was softer this time. Castiel didn’t answer, shivering again from the cold.

“Hey, if you can hear me… I really need you to wake up, man.”

Something warm settled onto his forehead, though Castiel couldn’t see anything. The soothing heat began to work its way down his face and neck, as Dean spoke again.

“I don’t know how much damage that grace did, but I know you can pull through. You just gotta… you just gotta wake up, that’s all.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Castiel whispered. “I have nowhere to go.”  

“Cas? Hey… hey, hey, hey, wake up. You don’t have to leave. Come on… come on, man.”

Warmth patting on his cheeks now. Castiel inhaled and shifted. Was it really Dean he was hearing? But if this was a dream, it was still safer than waking up and living it for himself.

“I don’t want to go.”

“You don’t _have_ to. I promise. Open your eyes. You’re safe! Cas, please.”  

More feelings and sensations were starting to work their way through the haze. The scene surrounding him faded out back and Castiel peeled his eyes open, squinting against the sudden brightness. It took a moment for the face looming over him to come into focus, wreathed in a halo of light from the lamp behind him. Castiel blinked.

“Dean.”

The hunter’s expression collapsed from worry to relief. Dean smiled and leaned in closer.

“Hey. Hey, yeah, it’s me.”

Everything felt sore and heavy, Castiel’s limbs weighted too much. Glancing down, he realized it was because he was swathed in blankets. His stomach hurt, the deep ache sending a ripple of discomfort through his heart.

Clarity sharpened Castiel’s mind, the events of the past couple of days returning to memory. The extraction process must have been successful, because he was still alive. The corrosive power he’d been living with for over a month was gone, leaving a profound sense of loss and pain in its place.

So he was human now.

“What did you do with the grace?” he asked, not sure why it even mattered. It wasn’t like he could have it back.

Dean leaned back in his chair. “Left it in the syringe and put it back in the box until we figure out how to get rid of it.”

Castiel nodded. It was hard to think through the ache in his stomach. He struggled to sit up, unwinding himself from the warm blankets.

“Sam?” he asked.

“Sleeping, or at least he’d better be. You were out for a little while. It was, uh…” Dean’s voice broke and he cleared his throat. “I was getting worried. As soon as we got the last bit out, you just…”

Castiel looked away. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be.”

An awkward silence descended while Castiel tried to sort through feelings and sensations. Already, the dream he’d woken from was becoming hazy, but the horror remained, bringing uncertainty. Dean and Sam assuring him that he belonged with them in the Bunker… had that been real, or part of the dream? 

Dean cleared his throat again. “So, um… right before you woke up, you stared, uh… talking. A little.”

“Oh.” What had been the last thing he’d been dreaming? Castiel’s stomach gurgled with unpleasant emptiness, making him wrap his arms around himself and wince. He was so hungry… and cold… Right, that had been in the dream as well.

“Crap, here,” Dean said, grabbing a pack of crackers off the nightstand and handing them to Castiel. “You must be starving. I’m gonna throw something together real fast, okay? But first, I wanna make sure that you know… you’re with us.”

Castiel fumbled to open the packet, though he paused to throw a questioning look in Dean’s direction. Yes, of course he was with them; Dean was sitting right there and Sam was apparently down the hall sleeping.

“I mean,” the hunter went on when he seemed to realize Castiel wasn’t following him. “You remember us telling you this was your room, right? And we’re gonna get you through this? And this… this is your home as much as ours? ‘Cause, uh… you said you didn’t want to go. Well, we don’t want you to go either, you know that, right? I mean, you’re one of us.”

 The rush of relief was so powerful it actually drove Castiel back against the headboard, his weight collapsing against it as a profound fear was lifted from him. They still wanted him, then. He still had somewhere to belong.

Dean looked away for a second, then rubbed his face with a hand and sighed. “I wish I hadn’t ever made you doubt that.”

Through all the heightened emotions competing for Castiel’s focus, one rose above the rest. Looking at his friend with compassion, Castiel shook his head.

“Dean. You must know by now that I forgive you. Yes, it was horrible. But through those experiences, I gained wisdom and understanding for the human condition that I could have never found without that time to shape me. I know now that I can survive, because I already have, and this time will be easier.”

“Yes,” Dean agreed, almost insistent as he turned back to Castiel. “It will be. We’ll help you. Me and Sam, we both will.”

And Castiel believed that. Though Dean didn’t seem to be forgiving _himself_ , at least his conscience seemed a little eased.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go get Sam,” the hunter said as he climbed to his feet. “And then I’ll throw a quick dinner together. Bundle up in those blankets, Cas, you’re still shivering. Are you that cold?”

Castiel glanced down at himself, taking stock. “I think I’m still adjusting,” he admitted as he drew the blankets farther up his torso, still clutching the peanut butter crackers. “I- I’ll be fine.”

He would be fine. Though Castiel had expected this to end in death, here he was. Remarkably, all three members of the little band Dean had dubbed ‘Team Free Will’ were somehow alive, if a little beaten down. Cole had not destroyed Sam. The Mark had not won control of Dean. The failing grace had not taken Castiel. Against all odds, they had survived.

The thought of how much Castiel still needed to learn about being human was an overwhelming notion, enough to make him balk and force his mind away from the prospect, for at least a while longer. Though Castiel mourned the loss of his angelic nature, he couldn’t let that hold him back. There was still so much to do… still a fight to be fought.

They were nowhere near the end of this road, but they were walking it together.


End file.
